Moon Kissed

Half Wolf

by Aimee Easterling

Chapter 1

Three shifters walked into a bar.

It sounds like the beginning of a corny joke, doesn’t it?

But here’s a little more information for you. I was those shifters’ alpha and den mother rolled into one. Two of the barhoppers were jail bait or close to it. And the establishment in question was filled to the brim with horny, lawless, outpack males.

No wonder I wasn’t laughing and was in a big hurry.

I breezed past the bouncer with a show of entirely human teeth, then rolled my eyes at his laxness. The employee wasn’t being remiss by not checking my ID. Not in a werewolf bar. But he still wasn’t really doing his job.

I was twenty-one—barely—which is all humans would have cared about when allowing entrance to a drinking establishment. But the guy at the door in a shifter bar was supposed to turn away anyone without the ability to don fur and howl at the moon. And even though I was technically a shifter, my half-human heritage meant my wolf was too weak to rise up behind my eyes and prove her worth to the bouncer.

Good thing I was accustomed to faking it.

But I wasn’t home free just yet. I’d barely set foot in the sea of writhing bodies when one of those lawless males alluded to earlier grabbed my arm, swinging me around to collide hard with his chest. My chin thudded against bare flesh only slightly less hairy than it would have been in lupine form and my nose took in the over-ripe scent of unwashed man.

Ugh. Not that it would have mattered if he was cute. I was on a mission and Ginger, Cinnamon, and Lia had a half-hour head start on me. I could only imagine what kind of mischief the trouble twins and their tagalong cousin could get up to during thirty long minutes alone.

Nice to see another lady in the place, the male offered with a triumphant leer, clearly pleased with himself for having snagged one of the few females in evidence. His words made it sound like he was trying to pick me up, but his iron grip on my bicep presented a very different picture. Ten feet in the door, I was already in trouble.

Luckily, I was up to the challenge.

Not interested, I replied sweetly, grinding the heel of one boot into the top of my assailant’s arch. I hadn’t dressed to impress and didn’t particularly expect my hiking shoes to make much of an impression. But I was pleasantly surprised. This particular male must have shown up at the back door in wolf form because his feet were bare. And they were also apparently quite sensitive to being stomped on.

Unfortunately, the shifter didn’t so much release me as fling me across the room to land against the legs of another group of outpack males. This time I was the one initiating the collision, and the male I struck wasn’t impressed. Snarling, he kicked me out of his path. But at least he didn’t look down.

I guess my weak wolf has a few things going for her, I thought as I struggled to my feet. There had to be at least a hundred males in the room and most of them were almost certainly outpack werewolves with no clan—or woman—of their own. A lone female like me in a bar like this was akin to lighting a match beside a powder keg then standing there tapping my foot while wondering if anything would blow.

Luckily, my half-blood skin didn’t exude the same sort of come-hither charm as a pure-bred pack princess would have. And, in the dimness of the dance floor, my tomboy apparel probably made me look like just another shifter kid out on his own and hunting for a good time.

Or perhaps the males’ lack of attention to my skinny form was the result of vastly more enticing eye candy on the other side of the room. Because I soon caught sight of my three pack mates by dint of following everyone’s gazes to a table off to the side of the bar. There, Ginger was belting out an accompaniment to the piped-in music and providing enticing visual aids to prove that tequila did indeed make her clothes fall off.

Take it all off! one of the shifters beside me hollered, and the crowd surged forward in one enthusiastic mass. I figured it wouldn’t be long before the first horny guy made it past Cinnamon’s guard and turned this happy crowd into a bloodbath. So I gave up on pushing between chests and instead dropped down into a crouch, weaving my way around legs as hefty as tree trunks.

Abruptly, I found myself pushed into a corner of the room, my trajectory losing perspective as Ginger’s voice was drowned out by roars of encouragement. For a split second, I was back in the tiny cellar where I’d been stuffed by bullying pure-breeds when I was barely old enough to attend kindergarten. Dark, close, no way out. Sweat broke out on my forehead and I forced fingers between knees to stop the former from trembling.

Okay, so I’ll admit it. My knees were trembling too.

This is absurd. They got themselves into this mess and they can get themselves right back out of it.

My single glimpse of Ginger had proven that her brother was indeed at her back, ready and willing to take on the entire room full of shifters in her defense. The male twin had one hand on Lia’s arm too, proving his intent to guard his cousin as well as his sister. Still, the kid had looked scared even as she did her best to mimic Ginger’s gyrations.

So, yes, I could pretend that the three teenagers would make it out of there alive without my assistance...even if that pretense would have been a bald-faced lie.

But I just couldn’t talk myself into the mental evasion. I’d been abandoned too many times in my life to do the same for members of my own pack.

Plus, I was ostensibly those teenagers’ alpha, which meant I was in charge of keeping their flesh attached to their bones. I knew it and they knew it. Why else would Ginger have made the admittedly stupid decision to try out another shifter bar despite the fallout from her last similar attempt? Even she wouldn’t have gone off half-cocked if backup wasn’t on the way.

So I pulled a deep breath into lungs that already ached from overexertion and I pushed my way back into the crowd.

READY TO GO HOME? I called up to my pack mates when I finally achieved my destination. Cinnamon was laughing in delight at his sister’s antics, Lia had finally discovered the beat, and Ginger had stripped down to a bra and miniskirt with nothing underneath.

I knew the latter fact not only because I could see straight up her skirt but also because she was stepping out of lacy undies and preparing to fling them into the crowd as I spoke. The female trouble twin flicked the aromatic garment away with one finger, and the lucky males close enough to have a chance at claiming the prize fell to the ground in a pile of testosterone-crazed aggression and greed.

Unfortunately, though, most of the shifters wanted a piece of the original, not just a scrap of fabric that had picked up the pack princess’s scent. My stomach banged painfully against the edge of the table as I was thrust forward by another surge of the crowd. In response, I grabbed onto the laminated particleboard with grim fingers, doing my best to hold my ground while waiting for my pack mates to come to their senses.

For a moment, Ginger merely smiled at the show. Then her eyes took on a truly wicked gleam as she glanced down at me, proving she wasn’t ready to let me off the hook just yet.

Hey, Fen, she called in greeting. What a blast, huh?

Only an hour earlier, I’d begged the nineteen-year-old to pay attention to the way her pack-princess vibe turned our neighbors into animals—sometimes not only metaphorically but also in the flesh. I’d asked that she at least consider her brother’s and Lia’s safety before jumping into danger with both feet joyfully extended. In response, the trouble twin had rolled her eyes and demanded to know the point of being a member of a free, young pack if I was as much of a pain in the ass as her last alpha.

I’d thought the teenager just needed to gripe and moan, so I’d shrugged off her words. But, no—as soon as my back was turned, Ginger had snuck out to prove her point.

You win, I yelled up at her now, not sure if she could even hear me over the din of the crowd. But how do you plan to get Lia out of here alive?

In response, Cinnamon lowered the sixteen-year-old into my waiting arms, then leapt down off the table to join us. Ginger’s gonna make a diversion so you can break our cuz here free, he yelled into my ear. We’ll meet you around back.

Not much of an exit strategy, a quiet voice drawled into my other ear. I whipped around to face a tall shifter about my age dressed up in cowboy chic—ten-gallon hat, checkered shirt, huge belt buckle, and nut-hugger jeans. Unlike the hairy-chest guy, this one was cute, but I didn’t trust my human intuition to root out his true intentions and my wolf was better off sleeping. Still, Ten-Gallon wasn’t grabbing Lia’s ass, so I figured he was a cut above the rest of the room’s inhabitants.

Do you have a better idea? I challenged him.

I’ll boost you out that window, he offered, pointing at a tiny aperture barely large enough for Ginger’s hips to wiggle through.

Okay, so the trouble twin’s hips matched her boobs—huge and comely. The rest of us would have no problem sliding out.

As long as Ten-Gallon could be trusted at our back, that was. I traded a glance with Cinnamon and my pack mate shrugged in response. Unlike his sister, the male half of the trouble team was laid back to a fault. I could never quite tell if Cinnamon obeyed me because I was his pack leader or just because it was easier to float along on the wave of even my extremely mild version of alpha dominance than to stand against the tide.

So the choice would rest on my shoulders alone, as usual. That was okay—I was used to it.

Okay, Cinn. You go out first and we’ll toss Lia up after you. If anything goes wrong, Glen’s got the car idling out front. Get out of here, and Ginger and I will take our chances.

The song was nearing its dramatic conclusion and the crowd was yelling commands at their entertainer so loudly I could barely hear myself think. But when Cinnamon touched his sister’s foot and jerked his chin up at the window, I could see the pack princess take in the entire plan in a moment via that ultimate in modern communication—twin speak.

Okay, she mouthed. Then the buxom shifter produced a diversion as promised. First, she reached forward to fiddle with the front clasp of her bra, releasing her bountiful breasts. Then she spun on high heels to show off the merchandise, a feat that I was pretty sure would have caused me to break my neck even if I wasn’t perched atop a table in a crowded bar.

Werewolves are accustomed to casual nudity, but even I had to admit that Ginger’s boobs were things of beauty. The outpack males fell silent through pure awe as they took in a show they’d never thought possible—a pack princess emulating a topless dancer. There was no pole to climb, but Ginger did just fine without props, swiveling her hips so enticingly that Cinnamon and Lia made their escape without a single shifter in the room taking notice.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. My new buddy and I noticed because we were the ones boosting our companions up toward the unconventional exit. You next? asked Ten-Gallon, not quite able to tear his gaze away from the table-top view.

No, Ginger next. Sure, the teenager seemed quite capable of taking care of herself. But I was her alpha. Which meant that I would also be the last to leave this sinking ship.

Of course, I knew the minute the metaphorical curtain came down, the crowd would turn nasty. But there was no getting around the inevitable. We’d just have to move fast and take our chances.

I sprang up on the table to join Ginger, boosting her toward our new accomplice’s waiting hands.

No way! Boo! Hey!

The cacophony of displeasure abruptly ceased as Ginger stepped out of her final item of apparel, allowing the tiny skirt to drift down and settle upon the table. Then she turned to blow a kiss toward her doting audience.

The pack princess was now buck naked and every male in the place—Ten-Gallon included—roared his approval.

Then Ginger was slithering out the window to join the rest of our clan, leaving me as the only pack mate still in danger. Well, me and Mr. Ten-Gallon Hat, who wasn’t looking like such a good defense against several dozen hyped up and disappointed outpack males.

This may be the time faking it isn’t quite enough, I thought inanely.

And then my stalker walked through the door.

Chapter 2

His wolf was large , but it wasn’t the beast’s size that stilled the crowd. Instead, a concerted wave of goosebumps crashing across every shifter in the room proved that the newcomer’s alpha dominance was single-handedly responsible for throwing metaphorical cold water over the proceedings.

Of course, alpha dominance was nothing new in the werewolf world—everyone had the ability to some extent. Still, a shifter’s capacity to sway others to his will was largely dependent upon the relative strength of each contestant’s wolf. My weak animal half, for example, could have been barked down by anyone in the room...which is why she was currently sound asleep within my human body.

At the other extreme, the eddies of invisible yet very tangible compulsions rolling off my stalker’s lupine form proved that he was the rarest of the rare—an uber-alpha. The newcomer’s dominance was so intense that he was able to part the raucous shifters like the Red Sea with a single glance, leaving a clear path between the door he’d padded through and the table on which I crouched.

In fact, if the evidence around me was any indication, I should’ve been glad my own wolf was asleep or I’d likely have fallen flat on my face at my stalker’s approach. The rest of the room’s inhabitants weren’t so lucky. Some of the nearby shifters remained rooted to the spot. Others dropped to their knees, heads bowed to the floor. And a drunk in the corner nearly choked on his own vomit until the stalker’s gaze followed mine and released the shifter from his spell long enough for the poor guy to finish throwing up.

While the uber-alpha was looking the other way, I glanced up at the window through which half of my pack had recently disappeared. Perhaps this was my chance to escape?

But Ten-Gallon was as frozen as the next guy, and I knew our rescuer would be torn to shreds by his fellows as soon as my stalker left the room. I didn’t even know my new comrade’s name, but a budding leadership sense suggested that he would soon become our pack’s newest member.

Which meant I was going to have to suck it up and deal with the wolf who was responsible for my outpack status and who seemed intent on following me across the country in order to gloat. His eyes latched back onto mine as I pondered my options, and I could tell I wouldn’t have made it out the window anyway before his teeth closed around my skin. So, as usual, I settled on bravado as the best solution to a bad situation.

Hunter, I greeted him.

In response my stalker shifted so fast I couldn’t even discern the transition, hair receding and body lengthening in an instant until only his amber eyes remained the same. Lost Wolf, he countered.

And with those simple words I was flung back three weeks to our first meeting. Then, as now, the uber-alpha had walked into a room vibrating with peril. Then, as now, I’d felt duty bound to protect my pack even while risking my own skin.

But at that point in time, the danger had come from Hunter himself.

Come to think of it, I wasn’t so sure anything had changed.

WHEN HUNTER AND I FIRST met, I was a happy-go-lucky member of a different clan entirely. Our alpha was kind but firm, our pack was quite capable of protecting its weaker members from all comers, and my wolf spent nearly all of her time asleep.

Despite that pastoral tranquility, though, half of my days involved patrolling the pack’s boundaries to make sure potential dangers didn’t encroach. So when I discovered the aforementioned uber-alpha in lupine form nosing through trees half a mile from our village, I immediately bared my human teeth and shouted out a challenge.

Stop there! I demanded. Never mind that I couldn’t back up my posturing with any alpha dominance of my own. I’d learned that simply lifting my chin in challenge and speaking like I meant it usually did the trick. And, sure enough, the huge wolf slinking through the undergrowth paused and cocked his head in response.

Without the sensory assistance of a rampant inner wolf, I’d just assumed the stranger was an over-zealous drifter trying to decide if our clan was open to new members. We generally were, but we also preferred supplicants to come in through the front door rather than sniffing around behind our backs. So I was terse when I stalked over, grabbing his ruff with one hand and clenching down on the top of his muzzle with the other. Rude, I growled, shaking the stranger as if he was a puppy and I was his alpha. Come with me.

Hunter obeyed easily enough, letting me drag his furry butt back to my alpha without complaint. Only when I saw the latter’s tense body language did I realize the error of my ways. It seemed I’d misread the stranger’s crooked grin as submission and had invited a predator into our den by mistake.

A den into which a young pup soon ambled, throwing us all into a tizzy of over-protectiveness. Any shifter who got my alpha’s hackles up was one I didn’t want hanging around youngsters. Unfortunately, my weak lupine nature meant that I wasn’t able to physically protect the kid in question or to boot the stranger out the door. So I resolved the issue in the only way I knew how—by continuing to pretend like I was far more wolf than I could ever dream of being.

Family matters, I told the stranger as my pack leader turned his attention to the pup. Grabbing the uber-alpha’s newly materialized hand, I pulled him over to a chair in the corner and away from the kid who had caught his eye. Perhaps if I was able to sidetrack our guest for a few minutes, my alpha could shuffle the youngster back out the door and then take this explosive bundle of handsomeness off my hands.

This time around, though, my playacting was a little less confident than usual. After all, if my alpha—who possessed the strongest inner beast I’d ever seen—was concerned about this stranger, then Hunter could likely bark and I’d offer up my finger bones to be used as toothpicks. I shivered, but still put pseudo-command in my voice when I spoke. Talk to me.

The uber-alpha feigned obedience once more, but I got the distinct impression that he was only humoring a shifter who he found intriguing. Talk about what? he asked. His voice was so deep it seemed to rumble through the air and into my belly like heavy bass, and I had to clench my jaw in order to ignore the tantalizing sensation.

How about your name?

I was definitely in over my head but the stranger seemed to enjoy my spunk. He took one of my hands between his much larger paws, sending yet another tremor through my body. I’m Hunter.

Is that your name or what you do? I couldn’t resist asking. And now Hunter’s smile finally reached his eyes. The uber-alpha was obviously impressed by my perspicuity, even though he really shouldn’t have been. I had no choice but to be alert to the subtle cues of body language since I couldn’t depend on my inner wolf to clue me in. And it wasn’t as if the stranger was trying to hide his thoughts either.

Both, he confirmed. And you’re Lost Wolf.

No, I’m Fen, I answered, ripping my hand out of the stranger’s grasp before my brain caught up with my mouth. I knew I shouldn’t be antagonizing a shifter so strong he gave my alpha heart palpitations, but it offended me that Hunter had so easily seen into the core of my being.

Okay, so offended probably wasn’t the right word. It scared me to death. It made me mad as hell. And, yes, it also pleased me no end that someone had finally seen what none of my pack mates had cared to notice during the last twenty-one years of my existence.

While I was trying to work through all of those contradictory emotions, Hunter elaborated on his analysis. You’re different and lonely. You’re looking for a place to fit in.

Oookay. I did my best to brush off his words even though each one struck like a dart into my soul. Did I accidentally sign up for a therapy session?

I feigned checking the planner on my cell phone, but fumbled the device instead since I wasn’t able to tear my eyes away from the shifter in front of me long enough to complete the pretense. The phone hit the ground with a clatter that made me jump but didn’t seem to affect anyone else in the room.

You’re uncomfortable, the stranger said after a moment of silence. You don’t want to talk to me.

True and true. But the kid who Hunter wasn’t supposed to interact with was still in the room and my alpha continued to radiate distress. So I shook my head. "No, I’m dying to have a pleasant conversation with you. And that was, unfortunately, true as well. But we’ve just met. Ever hear of small talk?"

Sounds trivial and inconsequential.

And you sound like you swallowed a thesaurus.

I couldn’t feel the effects, but I’d gotten used to the glassy eyes and clenched jaw that signaled a shifter exerting his or her alpha dominance. So I wasn’t surprised to see the kid flinch on the other side of the room as Hunter’s gaze bore down on me.

In response, my wolf stirred groggily awake deep within my body. And for the split second that she was less than completely comatose, I was able to fully understand the power of the werewolf before me. My nostrils flooded with the intense aroma of cold, wet sassafras, as if I’d been immersed in a vat of chilled root beer. And I felt an overwhelming urge to lunge forward and kiss the uber-alpha on the lips.

Then I pushed my wolf so hard she was flung backwards into the dark recesses of my mind and washed off her feet by the flood of my subconscious. As her presence faded, so did Hunter’s compulsion.

You know it’s sexual assault to force a woman to kiss you against her will, don’t you? I snarled. Then I whispered under my breath: And pretty darn desperate too.

What I really wanted was to punch the guy, but I had a sinking suspicion he wasn’t human enough to respond chivalrously to a blow from a lady. And if Hunter decided to fight back, I’d be dead. So I stuck to the defense that made me feel strongest—verbal sallies.

The uber-alpha cocked his head to one side curiously, then responded. I only asked you to let your wolf do what she wanted to do, he rumbled, and I flushed beet red. Surely that’s not against two-legger rules?

Yep, he’d definitely won that round.

But I wasn’t ready to roll over and show my belly just yet. When in doubt, ignore the facts and go for the jugular.

You’re a bastard. I ground out the words while leaning subtly forward and shoving myself into his personal space in a shifter provocation. Take that, you uber-asshole. How often do you get challenged by a wolf you can’t smack down with your voodoo powers?

And Hunter chuckled. In fact, he laughed so long and so hard that tears streamed out of his eyes in rivulets, making his chiseled jawline glisten.

I should have taken the opening I’d been given and run with it. At least the uber-alpha hadn’t immediately responded to my not-so-witty comeback, which gave me a momentary advantage.

But, instead, I found myself using every iota of self-control I possessed to refrain from reaching out and drying my companion’s cheeks. There was just something about seeing the uber-alpha cry that didn’t sit right with me, even if the tears were those of mirth instead of pain. And even if his laughter was, apparently, at my own expense.

But drying his eyes would be nearly as stupid as kissing him, I reminded myself, the latter possibility still niggling at the back of my mind. Actually, swiping my finger across his perfectly proportioned face would be considerably more stupid since I couldn’t chalk the action up to his earlier compulsion. Nope, not gonna go there.

While I’d been squashing my baser urges, Hunter had been getting a handle on himself as well. And now he was the one to reach out and very gently run one calloused finger across my cheekbone and down the side of my jaw in an unconscious mirroring of the gesture I’d just imagined.

You...are...intriguing. He paused between each word, so the short sentence lasted until his fingertip drifted across the sensitive skin surrounding my mouth. A fragment of rough callous caught on my softer flesh and pulled my bottom lip very subtly open.

Immediately, my unruly brain offered up the mental image of sucking Hunter’s finger into my mouth to taste. Would his skin possess the same root-beer flavor that imbued the air when my wolf was awake and Hunter was within range? Or would he taste even better?

Let’s not get carried away, I told myself. He’s an uber-asshole. The pup is in danger. Eyes on the prize.

So, instead, I snapped my teeth together aggressively, only realizing after the fact that the missed bite could just as easily be construed as flirting rather than giving warning. In response, Hunter cocked his head to one side again before returning hand to lap without continuing the caress.

And I don’t regret that. Nope, not one bit.

You’ll never fit in here, my companion said at last, the words grim and spoken as if from hard-won personal experience. But I know a place where you’ll belong.

This is my pack, I shot back. Now I wasn’t just pretending to banter. I was honestly angry that this uber-alpha who knew nothing about our clan would insinuate that my friends treated me differently just because I was a half-werewolf instead of a pure-breed.

Okay, sure, so my ex had recently dumped me for that very reason. But it wasn’t as if I’d find a better situation out in the cold, hard world. Former boyfriend aside, most of my current pack mates were willing to embrace my differences and accept me for who I was. That level of tolerance wasn’t the case in 99% of the shifter clans out there.

You’re willing to throw away the possibility of true acceptance due to fear of the unknown.

It wasn’t a question, but I answered it anyway. "I’m not afraid." I bared my teeth as if my wolf was rampant behind my eyes and was itching to tear out my opponent’s throat.

Which wasn’t so far wrong, except that my human self was the aggressive one. The uber-alpha didn’t need to know that my wolf was currently and would in the future continue to be nearly always asleep.

Hunter just smiled, this time with his lips alone. The offer’s open.

And then the wolf pup we’d been protecting scurried out of the room, allowing me to hand that combination of eye candy and impending train wreck back over to my alpha to deal with. Hunter was far too enticing for his own good, and I was glad to see the back of him even though he seemed to have my best interests at heart.

Seemed being the relevant word. Because less than twenty-four hours later, the uber-alpha returned to our territory just in time to cast me out of the only pack where I’d ever felt safe. It turned out that the bastard was not only powerful, he was also an enforcer for the regional governing body known as the Tribunal. In other words, Hunter harnessed enough clout to keep even my scary-strong pack leader in line.

Unfortunately, my entire clan and I had all been knowingly breaking the rules for the past few months. We’d chosen the morally correct decision over the legally correct one, keeping that little pup safe rather than returning her to a sadistic father who—by shifter law—owned the kid as thoroughly as he owned his fancy new car.

The Tribunal was responsible for resolving inter-pack altercations, so they’d sent Hunter out to pass judgment on our sinful ways. And rather than exploring all the shades of gray in the situation, the uber-alpha had decided to stick to the letter of the law. Which meant we got to keep the pup...but either my pack leader or his mate would be put to death to even the score.

So I’d stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong and had caught the backlash in their place. The upshot? My alpha would continue to run his pack as a haven for oddball werewolves like myself...but I would no longer be included in the family photos. Instead, I was set adrift to wander through outpack territory with only my weak inner wolf to protect me.

Or so Hunter had mandated. But my previous pack leader had one last trick up his sleeve. Ripping away part of his own alpha dominance, the shifter who I’d always looked up to presented me with that shred of power plus four underlings to back up my claim to pack-leader status. The thin veneer of danger settling around my shoulders might possibly be enough to keep lawless shifters from chewing me up and spitting me out...or at least from swallowing me whole.

Unfortunately, we all knew my chances of survival as a halfie female in outpack territory still weren’t worth betting on. The presence of companions just meant I’d be dragging more innocents down with me when I inevitably crashed and burned.

And the whole mess was Hunter’s fault. He’d acted so cordial and interested in me when we’d first met. Then, even after ostracizing me from my former home, he’d continued to reel me in. Taking my face between his huge hands, he’d promised: You’ll thank me later.

Even then I thought he’d kiss me.

But he didn’t, the bastard. Just left me yearning and lonely on the edge of what he clearly thought was a brave new world and what I knew was a death sentence for myself and for my new pack.

I hadn’t seen him since.

Chapter 3

Not so fond memories aside, I opened my mouth there in the bar to remind Hunter that my name was Fen. F-E-N. Surely three little letters weren’t too much for his wolfish brain to handle?

But before any snark could emerge, an overwhelming scent of rotten bananas filled the crowded room and five of the frozen shifters around us abruptly transformed into wolves with an audible pop. Then the outpack males’ growls merged into one ominous rumble as they stalked forward, progress only slightly hindered by the sea of torpid bodies between them and their prey.

Oh, and in case I wasn’t entirely clear—I was their prey.

I think that’s our cue to leave. Hunter must have sprinted to reach me so quickly. But when I looked down from my table-top perch, the enforcer didn’t appear out of breath. Still, his usual lackadaisical attitude had worn thin, suggesting that the uber-alpha was as shaken as I was to see his compulsion overthrown. Given the fact that Hunter was the strongest werewolf I’d ever met, he’d probably never lost a battle of wills before.

As a consolation prize, I accepted the uber-alpha’s hand even though I didn’t need any help descending from the table. A zing of awareness rushed up my arm at the contact and our eyes locked for a split second. Despite the unexpected attraction, though, I planted my feet when Hunter began tugging me toward the door.

We’re not leaving without Ten-Gallon.

Ten-Gallon? my stalker queried. One thick eyebrow rose quizzically and I gestured with my chin toward the man who’d helped Ginger, Cinnamon, and Lia escape.

Hunter considered the buff shifter for several long seconds, then shook his head decidedly. No, I don’t like the look of him. And you don’t even know his name. Hurry up.

The uber-alpha’s words were a terse command and I had to literally bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying You’re not the boss of me and flipping him the bird. Instead, I turned away and prepared to make my stand, drawing the sword gifted to me by my previous alpha. If Hunter wasn’t going to help my new pack mate survive the ensuing altercation, then I would.

The ring of steel emerging from its scabbard halted the enemy wolves’ forward momentum momentarily, but now we had an extra half-dozen combatants arrayed against us. All were much closer than I would have liked, too, while Hunter and I still appeared to be at an impasse. Not good.

Are you going to unfreeze my buddy or run away and leave us here like a scaredy cat? I demanded without taking my gaze off the approaching danger.

Hunter seemed torn between commenting on my juvenile language and on the three-foot hunk of metal I’d been learning to use in lieu of wolf form. Then he shook his head and sighed out an okay that promptly sent Ten-Gallon sprawling at my feet. Keeping the sharp blade carefully clear, I leaned down and gave the fallen werewolf a hand up.

Much obliged, ma’am, the cowboy shifter said, doffing his hat. I’m Quillen Atwater, by the way. But you can call me Quill.

See? Chivalry isn’t dead, I wanted to tell Hunter. But the rotten-banana scent was growing stronger by the second, and the sound of enemy werewolves shaking off the uber-alpha’s mental grasp now resembled the clatter of corn in an air popper just before the kernels achieved critical mass. So instead, I simply offered my own name back to Quill and led the three of us down the shifter-free aisle between table and door at a speedy walk.

Without further comment, the uber-alpha dropped in behind Ten-Gallon, pacing backwards while warily scanning the crowd we passed. I half expected him to shift into lupine form to expand his arsenal, but instead, Hunter remained human and weaponless, even deigning to offer a conversation starter.

That reminds me... the uber-alpha began, and I couldn’t quite prevent myself from interrupting. My companion just sounded way too calm and in control in the face of what looked like it would soon become a bloodbath.

What reminds you? The fact that we’re being stalked by twenty angry werewolves? Because at least that number of shifters had now reanimated. One reached toward me in human form, and I swiped at his bare arm, giving my opponent just enough of a scratch to warn without causing an emergency-room visit. The wounded shifter lifted his human lips into a lupine snarl and I got the unpleasant impression that he was filing my face away in his mental database to make future vengeance easier. Great.

Exactly, Hunter replied easily. You’re not safe here. Someone’s been kidnapping ha... He paused, abruptly realizing he’d almost used a common slur for half-breed werewolves right in front of one. Um, I mean, human-werewolf hybrids....

To my discredit, I let the uber-alpha flounder as we continued walking carefully toward the door. It was nice to be able to embrace the upper hand for a few seconds, but I put him out of his misery soon enough. You can call it like it is. I’m a halfie and proud of it.

Hmm, Hunter answered. Then he regained his composure and continued. "As I was saying, halfies have been going missing around these parts, but more so further east. Some were males, but most were young, attractive females like you. You’re headed in the wrong direction. You need to take your pack and go back the way you came."

Now it was my turn to growl. I hated nothing more than being told what to do, even though the attractive part sounded nice. I’ll take it under advisement, I said between clenched teeth.

Then time for conversation abruptly ran out as the first wave of advancing shifters reached the aisle and began trotting toward us at a steady clip. I eyed the door—close, but not close enough. We wouldn’t all be able to sprint to safety, but maybe at least one of us could.

Grabbing Quill’s arm, I pointed him in the right direction. "Run!" I ordered, putting my own mild alpha compulsion behind the command. My genetics meant I shouldn’t have been able to command so much as a field mouse, but my previous alpha’s gifted mantle did the job...this time at least. I sighed in relief when the cowboy shifter turned to obey, then listened until the clatter of his shod feet was abruptly muffled by the safety of grass and dirt.

Almost there. Four pack mates had now made it out of the bar alive, so I only had myself and Hunter to worry about. Luckily, I was pretty confident the two of us could take care of ourselves.

I expected the uber-alpha to think differently since he apparently considered me to be a damsel in distress. Instead, he surprised me by pushing my body between himself and the advancing wolves. Hold them off for a minute and I’ll see if I can reactivate that freeze, he ordered.

I was torn between being thrilled that the uber-alpha trusted me enough to depend on my protection and being annoyed that he didn’t seem to know how to pose a request in the form of a question.

No, wait, I was none of the above. Instead, as thirty—yes, the number had grown yet again—slobbering werewolves advanced upon me and my thin blade of metal, I knew exactly how I felt.

Terrified.

I WAS WELL AWARE THAT my previous pack leader, Wolfie, had handed me his grandfather’s sword as a metaphorical symbol of my newfound power. But I’d focused on the more practical utility of the weapon right away.

It wasn’t so surprising that Wolfie and I didn’t see eye to eye on the purpose of my new katana since we were about as different as two werewolves could be. My old alpha was a bloodling—a shifter born in lupine form who tended to retain those wolfish characteristics for the rest of his life. His alpha dominance alone could always bend troublesome shifters to his will, but he never hesitated to don fur if he needed sharp teeth in order to prove a point.

So Wolfie probably had no clue how defenseless my submissive wolf made me. And how unsuited I was to running a pack.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t just yank out the fur and claws when threatened like everyone else could. Sure, I was capable of transforming into a four-legger. And even though my animal half was more likely to turn tail and run than to fight, I could overcome her urges with my human brain and get the job done. The sublimation caused a subtle slowing of our reaction time that had negative consequences at critical moments, but it was better than nothing.

Still, I almost never shifted because my wolf was just too darn weak to be shown off in public. Specifically, I couldn’t risk her being barked into line by more dominant shifters...and, newly gifted mantle aside, every single shifter’s animal half was more dominant than mine. So I didn’t have the option of taking advantage of a werewolf’s typical physical defenses—teeth and claws.

Back in my old clan, the halfie disability hadn’t been much of a problem. Wolfie had protected our pack with a gentle yet strong dominance that put the worries of weaker wolves to rest. Even at the worst of times, I’d always known someone was guarding my back.

That all changed when Hunter’s manipulations thrust me into the position of watching out for four—now five—other werewolves. And I still couldn’t use lupine teeth to get my way.

So as soon as Wolfie presented me with his family heirloom, I got to work. I streamed YouTube videos on my phone and practiced while my new pack slept until I fell to the ground exhausted time and again. Only Ginger had noticed the strange nicks on my legs, but she appeared to accept the explanation that I’d cut myself while shaving. And eventually I became skilled enough that even those signs of fumbling disappeared.

Which is all a long way of saying—I did know how to handle the sword I was carefully grasping between two sweaty palms. But it felt very different to hack at a tree trunk compared to swinging at living, breathing shifters, even if the latter seemed ready to tear out my throat.

Here’s hoping I can just wave the scary sword menacingly and buy Hunter time to do his work, I thought without much faith in the possibility. Sparing a glance over one shoulder, I saw that the shifter in question had stretched out flat on the ground and appeared to be meditating...or perhaps taking a nap. Not a good sign.

She looks tasty. I couldn’t tell which of the shifters had spoken, but a rumble of agreement rose from both men and wolves alike. So I guess the identity of the speaker didn’t really matter after all.

A little skinny for my tastes. This time I caught the eye of the man in question. Speaker two was in his thirties and brimming with good health. In fact, I would have thought he was cute if he wasn’t obviously undressing me with his eyes and finding me wanting. Ew.

But serviceable, the first voice countered. You heard the man—she’s a halfie.

A word that had seemed almost charming when emerging from Hunter’s lips now cut me like the blade of Wolfie’s sword. But I couldn’t let them know their barb had hit home. Instead, I lengthened my spine and swung at an encroaching four-legger, this time failing to soften the blow at the last moment.

A whoosh of displaced air, half of a furry ear flying across the floor, and a yelp from my opponent proved that those weeks of practice had paid off. The injured wolf jerked backward like a stepped-on puppy dog before remembering his audience. Then he growled, reversing his retreat even as blood began streaming down the side of his face.

That was a warning blow. I was proud to hear that my voice was calm and steady even though the more powerful werewolves in the audience would be able to hear my heart beating a mile a minute. This sword is sharp and I know how to use it. I recommend you all back away while you have the chance.

Voice number one laughed. Spunky, aren’t you? The shifter in question emerged from the crowd at last, and it was instantly clear that this was the other mens’ leader. That’ll make you even more fun when we have you on the altar.

I shivered as my gaze flicked over my opponent’s form. Even without the help of my wolf, I could see the wildness of a rampant lupine half within the enemy’s eyes. And his stance was relaxed as he strolled casually within range of my sword as if the weapon didn’t even exist.

I should’ve taken the chance and cut him down then and there. Sure, the shifter looked like any other aging businessman. Dark suit, expensive haircut, fancy shoes. But I could feel the evil emanating from his cold, hard eyes and my gut told me the world would be a better place without this particular shifter in it.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t quite make myself take advantage of the opening presented. Yes, I’d killed a man before and with this very sword to boot. Still, my previous opponent had been menacing a toddler and, by extension, had been a danger to our entire pack.

And despite that clear-cut motive, I still had nightmares about the sickening crunch of blade through bone, the sucking sound as flesh parted and blood gushed.

They say your first kill is the hardest. But I had to disagree. It’s the second, when you knew what to expect, that makes even a brave wolf hesitate.

And, as I mentioned before, my wolf was anything but brave. So I wavered.

In response, the man smiled...then knocked the sword right out of my hands.

Chapter 4

"Freeze. "

The shifters, the air, and even the beer in nearby bottles responded to Hunter’s command. I could feel my teeth chattering despite my comatose wolf. And when the uber-alpha grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the exit this time around, I paused only long enough to scoop up my sword before obediently stumbling along in his wake.

The outside world embraced us in a cloud of humid warmth and I gasped in a long breath, only then realizing that I’d forgotten to breathe for the last several seconds. Or perhaps my autonomous nervous system had also responded to the uber-alpha’s command. Whatever. It just felt good to be alive.

My relief was short-lived. Unhand her, came Ginger’s familiar voice, laden with an equally familiar snarky overtone.

I straightened, taking in the scene before me. My entire pack now stood between us and our idling station wagon, three angry shifters plus Lia and Quill off to one side looking a bit befuddled. My comrades had clearly been ready to storm in and rescue me from the barflies, so it hadn’t taken much effort to transfer their aggressions to the uber-alpha who still clutched my hand in his over-sized mitt.

I considered pulling my fingers free, knowing the gesture would soothe my pack’s ire. But I couldn’t quite talk myself into severing our contact. There was just something about Hunter’s solid warmth that made me feel better after that heart-stopping display inside.

Plus, I wasn’t quite sure I could move yet. Good excuse.

I think you have the wrong idea, the uber-alpha said quietly. He might have squeezed my fingers very subtly at the same time, as if he didn’t want to relinquish our bond quite yet either. But his attention remained riveted on my pack and a low growl underlay his words. Hunter didn’t like to be challenged.

After scanning all five faces, the uber-alpha apparently decided that Ginger was the one in charge. His gaze locked ominously with the trouble twin’s...which is when I noticed that she was still entirely naked. Even clad, the teenager’s perfect curves had been known to turn males of both shifter and human persuasion to stone, so I thoroughly expected my companion’s eyes to wander south rather than maintaining their challenge. But, instead, Hunter’s attention remained resolutely focused above the teenager’s neck.

Maybe he checked out the merchandise while I was gasping for air? It was the only reasonable explanation.

And, more relevantly, if my brain was up to snarky mental comebacks, chances were pretty good I could talk again. So, with a shiver of regret, I released Hunter’s hand and herded everyone else toward our waiting vehicle.

I don’t know how long the freeze will last, I said, so we need to make tracks. Ginger can drive. Quill, you’ll come with us?

The cowboy shifter tipped his hat at me in cordial assent. But despite his good manners, this still wasn’t quite the way I’d planned on picking up new pack mates.

We couldn’t really afford to trust the newcomer sight unseen, so I shot a questioning glance at Glen and was relieved when my most solid pack member nodded back. My second then proceeded to subtly rearrange seating order so Cinnamon took the middle back seat, separating Quill from our weakest member—the twins’ younger cousin. At least that thorny issue had been easily taken care of.

I kept one eye on the closed bar door, wishing we could just jump in the car and make tracks. But a speedy escape was impossible when our vehicle was already stuffed to the gills with all of the pack’s worldly possessions. Some decisions would have to be made if we wanted to clear space for extra bodies.

Still, after three weeks of living in each others’ pockets, we worked together like a well-oiled team. So it took mere minutes to clear a space in the far-back for an extra shifter to perch. Out went the cooler containing tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch. Out went the huge tarp we needed to keep our tent dry when camping in a soggy spot.

Out went a tremendous duffel bag full of Ginger’s clothes. You’d think as skimpy as her preferred garments were, they wouldn’t take up much space. But the trouble twin’s tank tops and short shorts made up in quantity what they lacked in bulk.

Hey! the clothes horse protested, and I shot her the stink eye in return.

You and your wardrobe fill a similar square footage, I answered. It’s up to you who stays behind—you or your clothes.

Our banter was normal, but the worried glance I shot toward the bar door was not. Which was probably why Ginger gave in so easily. Whatever, she grumbled, averting her gaze. But she still obeyed my veiled command, pulling the bag open and picking through in search of something to put on in case we ran across human cops who would be confused by a naked driver.

Although, actually, that might be a good way to avoid the ticket we invariably ended up with when Ginger was behind the wheel.

Second-to-last problem solved, I turned back around to face Hunter at last. He was still two-legged, but his face was averted from my little pack as if he were preparing to shift back to lupine form and flee the scene as soon as the car left the lot.

Taking a deep breath, I touched the uber-alpha’s bare arm to capture his attention. How about you?

Truth be told, I was even more torn about inviting this abnormally strong werewolf along for our grand escape than I had been about including the cowboy shifter in our little band. Because Quill was a known entity—an outpack male likely looking for a mate and a bit of power. Trouble, but in a manageable (and cute) package.

Hunter, on the other hand was a conundrum, but one whose motivations were beginning to show through the murk. After all, how could he have shown up right in the nick of time to save our hides after weeks of separation if he hadn’t been following us around in the first place? That suggested a level of dedication to the project that I suspected vastly exceeded the stick-to-it-iveness of the average outpack male.

And then there was the issue of the tremors my handsome stalker regularly sent down my usually shiver-free spine. The intense physical reaction to Hunter’s presence didn’t bode well for my own future sanity.

Still, the uber-alpha would be in as much danger as anyone else once the outpack males woke up, and I had a feeling that even his intense alpha dominance wouldn’t hold the angry werewolves off for long. My stalker had almost certainly arrived on foot, and I doubted he could outrun his opponents indefinitely. So there was really only one ethical decision here.

Hunter? I prompted.

Do you want me to come with you? he countered.

The uber-alpha was the furthest thing from weak, but something about his words brought to mind the insecurity that had underlain my former pack leader’s first interactions with his mate-to-be. Hunter was a bloodling as well, I now realized, and as a result he probably wasn’t the most adept at human social behavior. Perhaps some of his semi-psychopathic mannerisms stemmed from simple discomfort while wearing a two-legger’s skin.

You’re reaching, I admonished myself. But, still, I nodded even as I heard the first angry shouts emerging from inside the bar.

Yes, I want you to come along.

GINGER DROVE LIKE A mad woman. We screeched around curves, blew through red lights, and once we were on the interstate our intrepid driver did an admirable job of pissing off truckers by cutting in front of them and then slamming on her brakes. Amid all the mayhem, the trouble twin slowly but surely shook every last barfly off our tail.

And, then, once the final outpack male was a distant memory, the real trouble began.

So, what are your intentions toward Fen?

Glen’s throaty murmur from the far-back area of the car barely carried to my shotgun position, and Ginger cleared her throat irritably. Her lupine-assisted ears wouldn’t have had any trouble picking up the conversation, but she knew as well as Glen did that my own hearing wasn’t similarly enhanced.

Agreeably, the latter raised his voice when he continued. Well?

Widely spaced streetlights above the highway cast alternating bands of light and dark, and I took advantage of one of the latter to swivel in my seat and glance across the car’s inhabitants without being too obvious about it. Lia was sound asleep with her head on Cinnamon’s shoulder, and her pillow looked only vaguely more aware of his surroundings. But Quill nodded a greeting from directly behind my seat. And the two shifters in the far-back were erect and alert, bristling with barely contained antagonism.

My intentions? Hunter’s voice was quietly sarcastic, as if Glen was an overzealous waiter who had dared to ask for his movie-star customer’s autograph. I’m not sure I understand your question.

Oh, I believe you do, Glen countered. We’ve smelled you around our campsites from the beginning. You never come close enough to invade a traveling territory...not quite. But you’re always there. Watching. Waiting.

This was news to me, and I shot a glance at Ginger. A well-placed streetlight illuminated the trouble twin’s unsurprised face, proving that she had also known about our stalker’s presence.

The teenager shrugged apologetically as she met my eyes. Didn’t seem relevant, she answered my unspoken question.

It didn’t seem relevant that the uber-alpha who had pushed us so abruptly out of Wolfie’s safe clan and into outpack territory had been dogging our heels for the last few weeks? No, what Ginger and Glen really meant was that there was no point in worrying their so-called pack leader since my mild alpha dominance couldn’t do anything about the potential danger. Hunter’s menacing uber-alpha skills were entirely out of my league.

But now wasn’t the time to delve into that issue. Not when our car contained two strange werewolves who might or might not have ulterior motives for befriending us. Hunter and Quill didn’t need to know about the rot at the core of our little pack.

Instead, I held my breath and waited to hear how Hunter would respond to Glen’s demand. It didn’t take long, and the uber-alpha’s words carried so admirably that it was clear he was aware of his larger audience. And why do you care? the uber-alpha demanded, his words projecting an almost tangible bite. "Are you her father? Her brother? Her mate?"

In response, Ginger’s hands twitched on the steering wheel and suddenly our tires were vibrating across the rumble strip and out of the right-hand lane of the highway. I lunged for the plastic-coated wheel across the trouble twin’s suddenly frozen form and righted our progress.

Hunter! I demanded through clenched teeth.

Oops. The word was so quiet I almost thought I’d imagined it, but then Ginger’s hands abruptly tightened beneath mine, proving that the uber-alpha had relinquished his control over the car’s inhabitants. Meanwhile, a gasp from the far-back suggested that Glen had regained the ability to breathe as well.

Any sane shifter would have backed down in the face of Hunter’s extreme alpha dominance and obvious lack of human control. But Glen instead answered firmly, if a bit breathlessly. "I’m Fen’s pack mate. I deserve to know."

Pack mate. Hunter rolled the word around in his mouth, tasting it as if he’d never considered the notion before. Is that why you followed a weak halfie woman into outpack territory? Not because you’re looking forward to wresting away her position and becoming an alpha in your own right? Not because you want to claim three beautiful women as your own?

Glen’s strangled growl was the uber-alpha’s only reply, and I thought for a moment that we were going to have to stop the car so I could place my body between the two males in an effort to prevent bloodshed.

But, instead, I saw Hunter pat the other shifter on the shoulder in an almost-apologetic expression of cordiality. No, I guess not, my stalker continued. "Well, then I’ll answer your question since you’re Fen’s pack mate. The subtle emphasis on the word pack" wasn’t lost on any of us.

Then Hunter’s warm, deep voice embraced me out of the darkness. I never have seen the point of a pack, he mused, his voice becoming quieter but not so much so that I couldn’t catch every word. But, he finished, "Fen is my mate."

Chapter 5

Ginger growled loudly enough for Hunter to hear her at the other end of the car, and then my inner wolf awoke with a vengeance. Usually, I had no trouble squashing my lax lupine half, but I was so exhausted from the preceding drama—and from the fact that it was close to three in the morning—that my control over the animal must have slipped.

She, on the other hand, seemed to be rejuvenated after swimming through the murky sea