Lone Wolf Collection

Lone Wolf Collection

5 Standalone Shifter Stories

Jessie Lane

Whiskey Girls Publishing

Contents

Immortal Enemies free for December 2023

Praise for the stories by

Hot Fur the Wolf

Hot Fur the Wolf blurb

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Lone Wolf Wanted

Lone Wolf Wanted blurb

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

Sassy and a Little Bad-Assy

Sassy and a Little Bad-Assy blurb

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

The Alpha’s Secret Family

The Alpha’s Secret Family blurb

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Big Bad Bite

Big Bad Bite blurb

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Note from the Author

About the Author

For more information on Jessie Lane:

Also by Jessie Lane

Other Titles from Jessie Lane

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Please note this title is only free for the month of December 2023! After that it will go back to its regular price of $2.99.

Praise for the stories by

JESSIE LANE

Walk On The Striped Side

Seriously y’all if you’re looking for a fun and sexy paranormal romance you need to pick up Walk On The Striped Side, I’ll never look at cat toys the same way… Fans of Shelly Laurenston and Jessica Sims will fall in love with Jessie Lane’s Big Bad Bite series. - The Book Nympho

Lone Wolf Wanted

Jessie Lane writes fun, sexy characters with a bit of sass. - Patricia A. Rasey, national bestselling author

Bears Do It Better

This is my first book by Jessie Lane and most definitely will not be my last. I have not laughed this hard at a book in a while. The quirky humor was great. - Reading in Sarah’s Corner

Sassy and a Little Bad-Assy

Absolutely hysterical! Really enjoyed the playfulness of the characters and their word play. While not completely comedic it had just the right amount of emotion to make both H/h feel real. I do love my HEA's. Thank you Ms. Lane for bringing a little laughter to my day. - Amazon Reviewer

Lone Wolf Collection

By Jessie Lane

Copyright © Jessie Lane

Published by Whiskey Girls Publishing

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by: Crimson Phoenix Creations

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Copyright © 2023 by Jessie Lane

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Jessie Lane or Whiskey Girls Publishing, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else.

The purchase of this e-book allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer to peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The authors acknowledge the trademarked status in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

These books contain mature content not suitable for readers under the age of 18. These books contain content with strong language, violence, and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situations are over the age of 18.

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Hey, I just met you,

And this is crazy,

But you’re my mate,

So please have my baby.

Werewolf Brock Newcastle’s biological clock is ticking, and his inner wolf is howling. He wants pups, and he wants them now. The problem is, no matter how hard or how long he’s been looking, he hasn’t been able to find his mate. He’s almost out of hope … until the night he finally meets her.

Autumn Gray is part of the notorious gray coven of witches. She has been trained since birth to be the next head witch, and duty comes before all else. That means she will have to enter a marriage of convenience to a stranger—a powerful warlock. But one trip to the nightclub Hot Fur is enough to throw those plans out the window. Because suddenly, she has a six-foot wall of sexy werewolf wanting to claim her as his mate, and she’s very, very tempted to say yes.

What’s a witch to do? Choose her coven or love?

One

W ill it hurt?

Brock ground his teeth while staring at the small human woman in front of his counter.

Remember to be nice to the customers, he told himself, and his inner wolf, for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

Placing his hands on the glass display counter, he tried to appear as nonthreatening as possible. Ma’am, it’s a tattoo, not a massage. Of course it’s going to hurt.

The blonde bit her bottom lip with uncertainty as she stared down at the design she had picked out. Hey, I’ve had a deep tissue massage—that hurt. So, I can take some pain, but, like, how bad will it hurt? Really bad?

Losing his patience after dealing with this same woman for over two hours, he finally snapped, Well, it’s not going to feel like rose petals across your skin, lady. You’re talking about a needle penetrating your skin thousands of times over a period of hours. It’s going to hurt like hell.

When a throat cleared from behind him, Brock almost hugged the person who had interrupted, giving him a reprieve.

Turning his head, he looked at his only employee, Jimmy, who didn’t waste any time saying, You got a phone call on line one, man.

Brock knew damn well he didn’t have a phone call. With his sensitive shifter hearing, he would have heard the phone ringing from the back office. Jimmy was giving him an out to get away from this customer, and he sure as hell was going to take it.

Looking back to the customer in front of him, he politely excused himself, then retreated to the office at the back of the shop. He sighed in relief as he walked into the small room with a desk, a computer, a filing cabinet, and some of his original art on the walls.

It wasn’t easy being the owner of a tattoo studio, but he loved every minute of it. The customers usually didn’t get on his nerves the way this one had, and that was probably why Jimmy had intervened.

Brock knew what his problem was the moment he sat down at his desk. He needed relief. It was a full moon and his wolf was riding him hard. Unfortunately, his human half was tired of meaningless hookups.

His heart squeezed as he stared at the picture of his sister and her family. He wanted what his sister had—a mate and pups. At almost forty fucking years old, he was tired of spending his nights by himself. His old pack, who were halfway across the country where his sister still lived with her family, had been sad to see him go, but they understood his need to look for his mate.

Just the thought of having a houseful of kids and the woman who would give that to him made him yearn to run out of the shop and continue looking. Looking for her wasn’t the problem, though.

In his endeavor, he had moved to ten cities and had yet to find her with any of the wolf packs. He was starting to become desperate, wondering if he would ever find her. Not to mention restarting his tattoo studio in every town was a pain in the ass. He looked forward to the day he wouldn’t have to close a shop and move again.

What worried him most of all was time. As in, he was running out. Despite the human’s crazy beliefs, shifters didn’t live forever. They had normal life spans that lasted anywhere from fifty to ninety years. With his age, he was quickly losing time to find his mate and start having those pups he so desperately wanted. Brock worried he would never get his dream family.

Lost in thought, he didn’t hear Jimmy come back to his office.

Hey, man, you all right?

Jimmy was a wolf from the pack here in Louisville, Kentucky. The two of them worked well together. By watching them, one might think they had known each other for much longer than the few months they had been in each other’s company.

Brock knew he was lucky to have found a friend in Jimmy. It wasn’t the only thing he had been lucky about since moving to Louisville.

The alpha here had graciously let Brock move into the territory and set up his tattoo studio. Not all alphas were that kind. Some didn’t want stray wolves around their pack, preferring to be more secular. However, the Louisville pack had welcomed him with open arms and wished him the best while he looked for his mate.

Most wolves couldn’t handle being without a pack, but to Brock, finding his mate was more important than having a pack to call his own.

He was grateful that the Louisville pack was willing to let him stay in the area and search, but he dreaded having to move to a new pack’s area to keep looking. The Louisville pack had practically adopted him. Plus, it was nice to have Jimmy and some of the other wolves around so he wasn’t so damn lonely all the time. Also, Jimmy’s sister Raven stopped by the tattoo studio on a regular basis, which sort of filled the hole of not having his own sister around.

Looking at the other wolf, Brock acknowledged for the first time since he had started to look for his mate that, if he had to leave this area, he would miss the pack almost as much as he missed his sister. Louisville had started to become home, which made his search for his mate here all that more desperate. He didn’t want to leave the one place that had started to feel like his, along with the pack that had welcomed him into their fold. He sure as hell hadn’t felt at home at any of the other towns he had visited, nor had those packs been all that welcoming.

It felt like too much was on the line. His nerves were strung tight, ready to pop and go off with just the smallest wrong move.

Brock shook his head. Sorry I’m being such an asshole today. It’s the moon, you know?

Jimmy nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. The full moon brought their beasts closer to the surface. The animal wanted to run free, hunt, and be wild. If only Brock could find the woman he was meant to be wild with, then maybe he would stop feeling so restless.

You want to go out with me tonight? Jimmy asked.

Rolling his head around on his shoulders, Brock tried to loosen his tense muscles. Where are you going? Out for a run? Brock knew the Louisville pack had hundreds of acres outside the city limits. They did pack runs every month and had invited him to come along if he felt the need to cut loose with his wolf.

Jimmy shook his head. No, I was actually going to go to Hot Fur.

Brock gave Jimmy an irritated stare. You want to take me to a fucking club? Are you out of your mind? In the state I’m in, I’ll end up killing the first asshole who pisses me off.

Jimmy laughed. Or, you could do something else with all that pent-up energy, like fuck. I’ve been trying to get you to go to this club for a reason, man. It’s a shifter-friendly place, no humans allowed. It’s not just some regular club.

Brock’s interest was piqued. What kind of fucking club is it, then?

It’s a shifter’s dream, bro. Most of the women are looking to hook up. And if that doesn’t cover your needs, there’s a fighting ring in the basement. Fucking or fighting, one way or another, you’ll get rid of all that restless energy you got rolling off you. Not to mention you never know, maybe you’ll find your mate there.

Brock snorted. The chances of him finding his mate at the very club Jimmy had been trying to talk him into going to for months would be astronomical. He didn’t like the idea of hooking up with some random female for the night … but the fighting ring sounded like something that might help.

He had been here for four months, and in that time, he had been looking for his mate in what had to be all the wrong places—pack lands, human hotspots like the mall. Hell, he had even gone to a few human clubs and bars, knowing that some shifters liked to mingle in those areas. Between checking out those spots, spending much of his free time on pack lands, and running his business, he had not once gone to the club that Jimmy kept recommending. What did he have to lose?

Jimmy had a point. He needed to do something with all this restless energy before he scared all their customers away.

Reluctantly, he gave Jimmy a nod. We’ll go to Hot Fur tonight, but you’re buying the first beer, asshole.

Two

H ave you picked one yet?

Autumn rolled her eyes at her mother’s question. Ire boiled in her blood.

She looked around the coven’s house and wondered where she could hide. The humungous couch she sat on was comfy enough, but perhaps she could escape to one of the bedrooms on the second floor? Maybe excuse herself to the giant kitchen the coven used on special occasions? Frankly, any room in this enormous house the coven used as a base would be better than in the very room her mother occupied. Not that she wasn’t strong enough or ballsy enough to go head-to-head with her mother. It was just that she really didn’t want to right now.

After a day of overseeing coven business, all she wanted to do was take a bubble bath and drink a glass of wine.

No, because this isn’t like picking new bed sheets at the store, Mother. It’s picking out a husband. There’s no return policy if I accidentally choose one I end up not liking.

You have to pick a warlock husband before you can take over the coven. Stop dallying and choose someone already!

Autumn shook her head at her mother’s antics. It’s not as easy as you make it seem. Whoever I pick, I’m stuck with for the rest of my life.

Witches and warlocks didn’t believe in divorce. In fact, when they took their oaths on their wedding day, it was a binding spell. Death was the only way out. If she married a man who she later came to realize was an asshole … God, that would be a miserable life.

Her anxiety rose at the thought of that sort of future. It felt like invisible hands were wrapped around her throat, squeezing the life out of her.

She looked around the coven’s living room, desperate for an answer to her problems. Or a distraction. Hell, even something she could throw at her mother’s head to shut her the hell up would work. Anything so she didn’t have to have this conversation! Not that she didn’t love her mom, but she was in a situation she didn’t want to be in. Not just the marriage for convenience part, but the reason she had to get married at all—head witch in charge.

Every generation, a new head witch in charge was chosen to lead the Gray Coven. Upon Autumn’s birth, the elders had bestowed the title on her. She had known her entire life that one day she would lead. That didn’t mean she wanted to.

She wanted to run the coven about as much as she wanted to turn herself into a big fat toad. Not that anyone would listen to her. In fact, she didn’t have a bone in her body that wanted to lead this coven, although she was already doing it in many ways.

Since their current head witch in charge was always in and out of a coma, Autumn had been forced to step up and run the coven at age nineteen. It had been a hard, grueling two years, and she was worn out. Especially since she hadn’t had all the proper training to run the coven yet. It just made doing her job that much more frustrating.

What she really wanted was a family.

Some might say she was too young to think that way. However, at twenty-one, Autumn didn’t think herself too young.

When she was a child, while other witches were pretending evil cackles and battle spells, she had been playing house with her dolls and a frog prince. Of course, her frog prince wasn’t really a prince, but Autumn had been a dreamer. Happy ever afters were her thing.

She wanted the love of her life, not a marriage of convenience.

She couldn’t even imagine having children with a virtual stranger. How awkward was that? Hey, honey, I know we got married for our covens, but let’s have lots of babies!

With her luck, the warlock she married wouldn’t want children at all.

That dismal thought dropped her mood even further, and suddenly, Autumn felt the need to get the hell out of there.

Standing up from the couch, she looked her mother in the eye and did something she had never done—told her exactly what she was thinking.

I love you with every bone in my body, Mother, but this is the last thing I want. I don’t care what you say, or what the elders have deemed, I don’t want to marry some random warlock to make everyone else happy.

And if you don’t fulfill your destiny, then who will? Besides, we don’t know how much longer Fiona will hang on.

Fiona was the current head witch in charge and pushing eighty years old. Most witches didn’t live that long. The coven’s doctors didn’t think she had much more time on this earth and stressed the importance of Autumn getting ready to take over. That didn’t mean Autumn was ready for all the terms of her taking over the coven. Or the fact that her mother had seemed to go a wee bit crazy about it all, such as now, as she stood glaring at Autumn, as if she could personally will her to pick a warlock husband that very second.

Autumn ran frustrated hands through her hair. Someone who doesn’t care about marrying a perfect stranger just because the coven told them they had to! Did it ever occur to you that I want more than that, Mother? That I want love and a family?

Her mother pointed an accusing finger at her. You were raised to take over this coven, young lady. Born to lead! This coven will depend on your decisions to take us into the future.

It was Autumn’s turn to point an accusing finger. And what if I want love more than I want to lead? I don’t see why the two have to be mutually exclusive. I can run this coven, do the finances, and manage all its members just fine without having a warlock husband picked out.

Crossing her arms over her chest, her mother gave her a determined glare. You have responsibilities to this coven, Autumn.

Knowing her mother was right, yet still hating every word she had uttered, Autumn brushed past her and headed toward the front door. And they can wait until morning. I’m going out for a drink. See you later. With that, she shut the door behind her, muffling her mother’s protests, and headed off into the night.

Autumn needed to get away from there before she said or did something she would regret. Like tell the coven to fuck off.

Three

Sweating, energy pumping, and adrenaline coursing through his veins, Brock felt the burn in his muscles and savored the rush of working off his frustrations like this. It felt good. Damn good.

He was so close … All he needed was just one … more …

Crack!

Knuckles smashed into his cheekbone, the impact whipping his head to the side.

As pain blossomed across his face, Brock knew without a doubt that, if he had been human, he would have a fractured cheekbone. Good thing he was a shifter and stronger than that.

Focusing on his opponent, a lion shifter with a face that was a little too pretty, Brock decided to ugly him up a bit. He pulled his fist back and let a left punch fly, smashing it into the other man’s pretty face.

Brock sucked in a breath, one filled with the scent of cat shifter. It had been easy to tell his opponent was of the lion variety. The man had a fucking head full of hair that screamed mane. It went along with his pretty boy looks and only served to piss Brock off.

The lion shifter stumbled, shaking his head to clear it. After a second, he ran a hand over his face, down his beard, and then gave a toothy grin to Brock. That all you got, wolf?

Brock held up his hand and summoned the other man forward in a come-and-get-it-you-asshole gesture. Why don’t you come find out, you oversized pussy?

Oversized was the perfect term for his opponent. The lion shifter had to have at least six inches on him in height and forty pounds in muscle. What he didn’t have was a wolf’s tenacity to go after its prey.

They circled each other like the caged animals they were, moving within the confines of the large fighting ring in the basement of Hot Fur. Dozens of others surrounded the fenced-in arena, screaming at them and making bets. Most were males, but a few aroused females were there, looking to get frisky with a fighter. The smell of their lust almost choked the air, making Brock wish this area had better fucking ventilation so he wouldn’t have to smell the women’s arousal. None of them appealed to Brock. In fact, the scent of their desire made him sick to his stomach.

He held his ground as his opponent charged. When the cat was within hitting distance, Brock sidestepped the lion’s punch. Then he smashed his fist into the other man’s gut, effectively knocking the air out of him.

Fuck, his opponent wheezed.

Brock’s wolf howled inside his head, ready to go in for the proverbial kill, when a different scent hit his nose.

It wasn’t the scent of the lion’s blood, but something altogether much sweeter. Like jasmine and midnight with a touch of vanilla.

Brock’s wolf howled inside his head for entirely different reason, while Brock stumbled to the side in shock.

Mate.

After all these years, it had finally happened. Brock had scented his mate.

Looking toward the crowd, he searched for his female. She was here, in this building, somewhere.

The world stopped, everything forgotten except the craving of her sweet smell, her touch, and the need to mark her.

And it was for that reason that he was so distracted he never saw the lion move to retaliate. No, Brock did not see the size thirteen foot before it slammed into his nuts so hard that he fell to his knees, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head as he blacked out.

Four

Autumn winced as the heavily tattooed hottie she had been watching fell to his knees while cupping his balls. His opponent raised his arms in victory and strutted around the prone man’s body while everyone cheered him on.

Autumn wanted to kick the victor in the nuts and see how he liked it. She knew shifters were stronger and could handle more than witches or humans, but it was still a low blow to kick her fighter in the gonads.

Wait. Her fighter? She might have been rooting for Mr. Tattoos, but that didn’t make him hers.

Shaking her head at the irrational idea, she turned and headed up the stairs to the main floor where the bar was located. Time for another drink.

While the basement level of the club was made up of brick walls and cement floors—probably so they could easily wash away the blood—the main floor was cozier and more vibrant. Dark hardwood covered the main floor of the club and matched the beautiful wood bar where she had gotten her drink. The walls were a sensual red, and the lighting and music were low to accommodate a shifter’s sensitive eyesight and hearing. It would make it difficult for Autumn to make out details with her normal vision, but she was there to get drunk, not take in the things going on around her. And based on the moans she could hear as she walked through the crowd, she was sort of glad she couldn’t see everything.

Autumn couldn’t be sure, but she thought there very well might be couples having sex in the darkened corners. The scent of sex was heavy in the air, even to her normal senses, which meant hanky-panky had to be going on all around her. Gag.

She stopped sporadically to watch the dancers’ swaying bodies, a kernel of jealousy unfurling inside her.

She wasn’t as carefree as most of the people in Hot Fur. She wanted to cut loose and be wild for a night, but that would require more than the drink she held.

Sure, her kind was invited, but Hot Fur was more for the occasionally furry variety. Autumn had never been to Hot Fur in the past, but she knew this was the last place her mother would look for her. Witches could be a bit elitist at times and didn’t often mingle with other paranormal species. She bet most here were shifters since this was a well-known shifter club.

Autumn knew enough about shifters to get herself out of a bind, but she definitely wasn’t an expert. Something she thought was a bit silly if she was going to be head witch of the Gray Coven. Shouldn’t the head witch know all about other species in case they were suddenly enemies?

That was a thought for another time. Tonight was all about cutting loose and being free.

Making her way through the packed bodies, she finally found herself at the bar once again.

As soon as she set her empty glass on the bar top, it wasn’t long before the giant, burly bartender swooped in to serve her.

Want another Long Island Iced Tea? he asked.

She nodded, not in the mood to yell over the music.

The bartender slapped his hand down on the bar top, giving her a stern look. All right, but I can smell from here that you’re not a shifter, so anymore after this and I’m taking your car keys so you don’t try to drive home.

She nodded again in understanding then watched as the bartender took in her agreement before turning away to make her drink.

Autumn wasn’t even mad at the man for his bold statement. First, he was doing his job by trying to keep people safe. Secondly, he was obviously another shifter if he could smell that she wasn’t one. Therefore, he knew she didn’t have the metabolism of a shifter to burn off the alcohol and still safely drive.

Looking down to her curvy body, Autumn silently wished she had a shifter’s metabolism for reasons other than drinking booze. Shifter females tended to have lean bodies, packed with feminine muscle. Autumn simply had curves, curves, and more curves. With her large double-D breasts, a size fourteen waist, and hips and ass galore, her shape—more than her scent—made her species apparent. What she wouldn’t give to have some wolf bitch’s metabolism. Then she could eat or drink whatever the hell she wanted and still have a trim figure.

Her musings were cut short when another full glass appeared in front of her. She thanked the bartender then sat on one of the free stools to drink it at the bar. Behind her, everyone else was dancing or mingling, but she didn’t have it in her to socialize. All she could think about was her impending nuptials of doom.

She took a big swallow of her Long Island Iced Tea, relishing the way the cool liquid went down her throat.

Maybe it was silly of her to want that fairy tale happily ever after, but dammit, she did. She wanted love and a family, not some wham, bam, here’s your man marriage of convenience. But, what was she going to do? Her coven depended on her to arrange a marriage with a powerful warlock and take her place as head witch. No one else knew everything about the coven—from its businesses and how it thrived to all the nitty-gritty details about its members. There wasn’t another person who had the knowledge like Autumn. Well, except for the current head witch in charge, Fiona, but she was on her deathbed.

It was the main reason it was so imperative Autumn take over soon. Otherwise, the Gray Coven would fall into disarray.

It was written in the coven’s bylaws that the head witch had to marry a warlock who would strengthen the coven, because power was everything in the witch world and the coven wanted more.

What was worse was that the coven was so power hungry that, should the head witch in charge pass away before the ordained next head witch had married, then the coven would pick a husband for her.

That thought made her shudder.

Autumn didn’t feel as though the Gray Coven needed any more power. They were already one of the largest covens in the United States. Their members were a healthy mix of wealthy to middle-class, and not a single one wanted for anything.

So, why did she have to marry for a power play? Why couldn’t the coven change the bylaws so she could marry for love?

She grunted and mentally sneered. Because they want more power; that’s why. Her future was depressing, and it sure as shit wasn’t fair to her, but she didn’t have another choice.

Not liking the outlook of her ill-fated love life, she took another gulp of her drink. Or tried to, but it was gone. As in, the glass was empty.

Damn, she had drunk that faster than she had realized.

Suddenly not giving a fuck if she left here wasted or not, she held up her empty glass and signaled to the bartender that she wanted another. He gave her a surprised look, probably because of her quickness. She just shrugged in response.

He didn’t hand her a filled glass, though. No, he stood on the other side of the bar top and held out his giant hand, waiting for something. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what the man wanted. She was anatomically a human woman sucking down shifter-strong drinks.

Rolling her eyes, Autumn fished her keys out of her pocket and handed them over to the burly bartender. Once they were safely tucked away in his pocket, he handed her the third—or was it fourth?—Long Island Iced Tea.

As she brought the tall glass of delicious alcoholic ambrosia closer to her, she silently thought fuck it. She couldn’t have the man of her dreams sweep her off her feet, but she could get drunk as hell and forget about why she couldn’t have said man.

That sounded like a damn good plan.

Five

As the stringent aroma of smelling salts hit his sensitive nose, Brock swatted at the hand that held them. God, that shit stank.

It took him a second to find his bearings. It didn’t take long to realize he was lying on the cold cement floor of the fighting ring.

He pried his eyes open to discover the Hot Fur medic standing over him.

You okay? The medic quirked an eyebrow.

Brock cupped his nuts to make sure they hadn’t been kicked up into his throat. Feeling the familiar weight of his balls, he gave the guy a nod.

Where’s the motherfucker I was fighting?

The medic stepped to the side so Brock could see the lion shifter strut around the arena, hands held up in celebration. Well, Brock had news for the bastard. He wasn’t done, not yet.

Hopping to his feet lightning fast, he shoved the medic aside and stormed toward the lion shifter so fast the other man didn’t even see him coming. Fist already balled up and pulled back, he waited for the cat to turn. The second the lion shifter spied Brock, his eyes went wide, but the feline didn’t have a chance to do anything more.

Brock snapped his fist forward in a blur of motion and punched the lion shifter in the throat.

His opponent garbled in surprise, grabbing his throat while he bent over and wheezed.

Brock didn’t even feel bad about knocking the wind out of the motherfucker. He figured one dirty move deserved another, so the guy had it coming.

Sucking wind didn’t stop the cocky lion shifter from flipping Brock the bird as he gasped for air.

The crowd roared at Brock’s comeback. However, he didn’t stick around to savor the win. As far as he was concerned, it was a tie. Not to mention he had more important things to do. Like track down the delectable, seductive as hell scent of his mate.

Yeah, that kick to his nuts had knocked him out, but it hadn’t erased the memory of her sweet scent. Nor had it touched the craving his wolf had to lay claim.

Leaving the arena, Brock pushed past the crowd as he scented the air, desperate to find that aroma once again. His heart beat like a drum on steroids, and desperation rose inside him. She had to still be here!

Moving quickly through the crowd, he made his way up the stairs to the main floor. That was where he caught her scent again. That sweet, floral aroma of jasmine mixed with the warm musk of vanilla teased his senses. He followed the trail to the bar and didn’t stop chasing it until he stood behind one very lush and curvy woman.

She had a gorgeous hourglass figure; long, red hair that fell halfway down her back; and the creamiest skin he had ever seen.

His wolf raged in his mind, desperate to be let out to meet their mate. It took everything inside him to keep the beast caged for a little while longer.

He promised the wolf plenty of time with her as soon as they got her away from Hot Fur. Some place quiet and private where they could take their time mating her.

It wasn’t until he closed the space between them and placed his arms on the bar on either side of her, effectively locking her in his embrace, that she stiffened with the knowledge that someone was behind her.

Brock’s wolf was not happy that their mate hadn’t sensed them before that moment, but he calmed the beast with a reminder that he could teach her how to be more aware of her surroundings. Right now, he had to concentrate on fighting the urge to throw her over his shoulder and race out of the club.

Muscles locked, internal war waging between him and his wolf, Brock just stood there for a second, breathing in his mate’s scent. He tried to calm down as he watched the back of her head, as she slowly turned to look at him from over her shoulder.

He could smell that she wasn’t a shifter, but he knew she had to be something other. Hot Fur didn’t allow humans in the club. What was she, then? She didn’t carry the scent of sulfur like demons, and he could hear her heartbeat increase, which meant she wasn’t a vamp.

That left witch.

He had never considered having a witch for a mate, but now that he had finally found her, he didn’t give a fuck. She was his, she was here, and he finally had the one person he had been looking for, for what seemed like forever.

When her gorgeous jade green eyes hit his blues, he was done for. Logic was lost, reasoning was a thing of the past, and his wolf howled at him to claim her. Now.

She furrowed her brow in confusion, and then raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to speak.

Can I help you? she finally asked in a sweet voice when he didn’t do anything but stand there like an idiot.

Brock hadn’t figured out how to talk yet. He was torn between the growing need to shift and cover her in his scent, or grab her and run off to claim her. He fought a losing battle against his wolf.

The challenging look his mate gave him turned him the fuck on. With the way he felt, with the lust that rode him, he ached for her to challenge him in bed, where they could battle for dominance in the best of ways.

There was only one thing that came to his mind, though, as he stared at the face of an angel and wondered if he had died and gone to heaven.

Mine.

Six

Strong arms bracketed Autumn’s body. One was smooth, bare skin with nothing but a smattering of hair, while the other had artful tattoos telling a colorful story.

Autumn had an irrational urge to trace those tattoos with her fingertips. She was totally blaming that desire on the booze.

She turned her head and looked over her shoulder, meeting the gaze of the man who practically pinned her against the bar.

It was the tattooed hottie.

Only, he wasn’t passed out anymore.

Good for him. But, why in the world was he standing behind her, breathing down her neck like a psycho stalker?

After asking him if she could help him, she wondered how long they could stare at each other without saying another word. In her drunken state, it felt like an eternity.

She was just about to ask him what the hell his problem was when he uttered one word that confused the ever-loving shit out of her drunken mind.

Mine.

His voice was gravelly deep and raked over her senses. Goosebumps popped along her arms, and a shiver slithered down her spine. Something buried deep, deep inside her wanted to know if he would use that growly voice against her clit. If he did, would it make her come?

Hello, irrational thoughts!

Now was not the time to ponder climbing into bed with the crazy man behind her. Obviously, his brain cells had been affected by that kick to the nuts. She had always known the little head ruled the bigger one. She just never realized the nuts were the brains of the operation.

Autumn snorted at her silent joke, but tattooed hottie thought she was snorting at him.

He bared his teeth in a snarl and again growled, Mine.

What was he, a caveman? And what exactly was his? The stool? Her drink? Hell, was he cranky because she was sitting in his spot? Had he been hit so hard in the junk that it had jarred his head? Because, there was no way he could mean that she was his—or anybody’s—mine.

Looking around, she realized everyone had quieted and was watching them, including the bartender. Goody.

The big, beefy bartender looked worried. He watched so closely she started to wonder if she should be afraid.

Did everyone think this Neanderthal was going to hurt her? Well, they were concerned for the wrong witch! This witch, no matter how drunk, could handle herself! She had spells that would make his great-great-great-grandma squawk like a chicken from the grave.

Still trapped within the growling hottie’s arms, she turned to face him. "What exactly is yours? Because, my happy ass is planted on this stool, so it’s mine."

A look of amusement passed over his face, his snarl disappearing to be replaced by a smirk. "I don’t want the stool. I want what’s on the stool, love."

In Autumn’s drunken mind, that just didn’t add up. He wanted what was on the stool? Like, the seat padding? He couldn’t mean her. No way in hell did he mean her.

A bark of laughter escaped the hottie. She liked the way it turned him from menacing to gorgeous.

Yes, I mean you.

Holy shit! Was he reading her mind?

Another laugh escaped him. I’m a wolf, love, not a psychic. You’re saying everything out loud.

When a few chuckles broke out, Autumn shot a glare at the crowd. For a moment, anyway.

The hottie placed two fingers on her chin and turned her focus on him again. The stubborn part of her wanted to resist, but her instincts told her to submit. It was a bit confusing since she considered herself too headstrong and independent to want to submit to another.

This time, as her eyes connected with his baby blues, she really took him in. He was older than her; the laugh lines around his eyes giving it away. He had strong facial features that kept him from being model pretty, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t beautiful in a rough-hewn sort of way. His hair was cut short and close to his scalp. He had a large tattoo covering his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt. She couldn’t help wondering how many more tattoos he had on his body. And what a body it was! His shirt clung tightly to his muscles, and as she peeked down, Autumn could see his jeans clung to his muscled thighs.

Where the men of her coven were GQ pretty, the man in front of her was dangerous and wild. It made her wonder if that meant he was wild in bed, too. And that thought made her lower half clench in need.

Was she that intoxicated that all she could think about was sex when it came to the man in front of her?

Suddenly, he took in a deep breath, then released a low, rumbling growl.

Shit. He could smell her arousal.

Instead of it embarrassing her, his response was a total turn on.

Damn those yummy alcoholic drinks! They had turned her into this wanton hussy!

His eyes glazed over a bit, and then it turned into a lustful, heated look aimed directly at her.

"I think it’s time we go somewhere private, mate." His voice held more than a hint of his rumbling wolf.

Wait. What did he just say?

Drunk and more confused than ever, Autumn finally spoke. Mate? Wait, are you Australian? Are you Hugh Jackman? I didn’t realize Hugh really was a shifter. She leaned forward. Talk dirty to me, Hugh.

He lowered his head until their noses touched. She went cross-eyed trying to focus on him.

How much have you had to drink, love?

He didn’t sound Australian anymore.

A different, deep rumble behind her answered, She just finished her third Long Island, man. You might want to take it easy on her.

That answered the three or four drink question.

The tattooed hottie’s eye twitched before he growled at the bartender, Why in the fuck would you let her drink that much?

Totally fascinated by the man in front of her, Autumn didn’t even bother to turn around as the other man answered, Hey, I took her keys so she couldn’t drive, and I was going to call her a taxi. She was safe up here with me.

Autumn’s head swam as the alcohol hit her. She swayed in her seat, but she didn’t have to worry about falling because she had those giant, delicious arms surrounding her.

Unable to stop herself, she gave in to the urge and traced the tattoos on his right arm with her fingertips. He tensed under her touch, almost as if she had shocked him. Drunk Autumn didn’t really care. She just kept stroking the artwork with its circles and swirls, following the pattern.

The farther she moved up his arm, the tenser the tattooed hottie became. By the time she reached his elbow, his muscles were as hard as a rock. She wondered if that meant he was hard everywhere.

Tattooed hottie chuckled. You know you said that out loud again, right, love?

Confused, Autumn lifted her heavy head and glared at the man. Said what out loud? And why do you keep calling me love?

Snorting, he leaned down until his lips grazed the shell of her ear. "You asked if I was hard everywhere, and everyone in the bar heard you. To answer your questions, I am hard because of you. And I keep calling you love, because you’re my mate."

No way.

Autumn couldn’t believe what the shifter was telling her.

He pulled back and stared into her eyes again, waiting for her reply. Only, Autumn was so drunk and confused she didn’t know what to say.

After a few minutes of silence while the crowd still surrounding them watched their every move as if they were a soap opera, Autumn heard a deep sigh from behind her.

She’s too drunk to understand what you’re trying to tell her, wolf. Here are her keys. Take her home and let her sober up.

A jingle of metal passed by her. It took Autumn more than a few seconds to realize the bartender had tossed her keys to the hot, tattooed man.

No, not a man … a wolf. That was what the bartender had said.

Tipping her head back, she looked at the tattooed hottie, trying to focus the blurry image with all her might. Did he just call you a wolf?

Yes, love.

Huh. Does that mean you’re a wolf shifter? Like, woof-woof? Whoa, he got a thousand times blurrier!

After a deep sigh, he answered, Yes, love.

Autumn tried to picture the man in front of her as the canine variety and came up with an image of a puppy playing with its butt in the air, eager to fetch a ball then prance around with it in his mouth.

She giggled at the thought.

Do you play fetch?

The crowd around them roared with laughter. Autumn was too damn drunk to realize they were laughing at her, not with her. Not that she would have had time to notice.

The wolf shifter caging her in took a step back, wrapped his arms around her waist, and then tossed her over his shoulder.

Next thing she knew, she was being carried out of the club, fireman style, with a view of wolf man’s butt in her face.

And what a very nice butt it was!

Seven

Brock had imagined finding his mate for years, but he had never imagined she would be drunk and practically out of her mind.

Nevertheless, even though the entire club of Hot Fur laughed, Brock wasn’t mad one bit, and for a very good reason.

He had found his mate!

After all these years, he finally had her in his arms. Now he just had to sober her up so he could explain what she meant to him. Not exactly what he wanted to be doing for the next few hours, but he could be patient a little longer.

Brock carried her outside and stopped once they hit the parking lot.

Turning his head to the side so his mate could hear him clearly, he asked, Which vehicle is yours?

She let out an adorable hiccup, and then a groan. I’m not telling you until you put me down.

Brock hesitated, but then decided it couldn’t hurt. He would miss the feeling of her body against his, but he would have plenty of that in the near future to make up for this one small loss.

He gently set her on her feet, and then held her by the shoulders to make sure she wouldn’t fall.

Impatient to get out of there and somewhere more private, he asked her again, Which vehicle is yours, love?

Her glassy eyes narrowed at him with challenge. Why should I tell you?

Because I’m going to take you home, Brock growled.

His mate propped her hands on her hips and shouted, How do I know you’re not a serial killer?

Closing the space between them, Brock moved his hands from her shoulders to tenderly cup her cheeks. I would never harm a hair on your head.

She cocked her head to the side, much like a curious pup’s, and her next words came out with a soft whisper. But, why?

Leaning down so he could run his nose along hers, he then gave her a chaste kiss on the lips before retreating. "Listen to what I’ve been trying to tell you, love. You’re my mate. Not as, an Australian friend. I’m a shifter, and you’re the one person I’ve been looking for my entire life. You’re meant to be mine, and more importantly, I’m meant to be yours."

Though Brock wouldn’t have thought it possible, her eyes glazed over a little more, and then she whispered, You’re my frog prince?

He snorted, wondering just how blitzed his mate really was, but answered her anyway. No, but I am your wolf. So, let me take you home, and after you sober up, we can talk more.

Seemingly in wonder, his mate nodded.

Brock asked for a third time, What vehicle is yours, love?

The little red Honda Civic parked in the middle. She waved her arm randomly toward the lot.

Brock grabbed her arm and led her to her car. He unlocked it with the key fob then opened the passenger door. He helped her get in then buckled her seatbelt, making sure she was safe. After that, he jogged around to the driver’s side and joined her.

It wasn’t an easy fit for him. He had to move the seat back to accommodate his long legs. The entire time, he watched her watching him warily out of the corner of his eye.

He started the engine and was just about to put the car in gear when she rested her small hand over his on the gear shift.

Giving her his attention, he watched as she nibbled on her bottom lip.

Before we go any further, can you at least tell me your name?

His wolf whined inside his head. Their mate was probably a little scared, and they had done nothing to reassure her, besides repeatedly tell her that she was theirs. He had to fix that right now.

Digging into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and handed it over so she could see his drivers license through the clear plastic of the first slot. My name is Brock Newcastle. There’s my address and my license number. Do you want to call a friend and give them the information? Will that make you feel a little safer?

She rubbed her thumb over his picture. After a few silent moments—moments that almost drove him crazy—she heaved a sigh, turned toward him, and squared her shoulders. I’m not calling anyone, but I am going to hold on to your wallet. You should know up front—she pointed at him and narrowed her eyes—if you try any weird moves, I’m a very good witch and will turn you into a flea! Autumn snapped her fingers in front of him, letting a spark of magic fly. It wasn’t a spell, just visual evidence that she had magic and wasn’t afraid to use it.

Brock stifled his laughter and nodded in understanding. Deal. But now it’s my turn. Tell me your name before we leave. I want to know everything about my mate; we can start there.

She nibbled on her bottom lip harder, then spoke low. I’m Autumn Gray.

Brock leaned forward just a little so that, for a few seconds, he could be closer to his mate. It’s nice to meet you, Autumn Gray. You have no idea just how long I’ve been looking for you.

A spark of something flashed in her eyes before she squared her shoulders again and pointed toward the windshield. Well, let’s head back to your place. On the way, you can tell me how long you’ve been looking, Brock Newcastle. And if I like what I hear, then maybe I’ll tell you more about me.

Feeling a sense of hope he hadn’t experienced in a very long time, Brock put the car in gear and started forward with the woman who had just become his entire world. Deal, love.

Thirty minutes later, he had Autumn situated at his small kitchen table with a cup of coffee in her hand. Sitting across the table from her with his own cup of coffee, he watched her as she turned her head to look curiously at his apartment. He loved the inquisitive look in her eyes as she took in what was obviously a sparse bachelor pad.

His wolf was content just watching her silently, but Brock’s human half wanted more than that.

Anxious to know everything about her, he cleared his throat to get her attention. Once he had it, he inquired, Tell me about you, Autumn.

What do you want to know? she countered.

Everything, he answered fervently. Absolutely everything.

Eight

The next morning, Autumn awoke more than a bit groggy and very, very warm. Mmm …

She opened her eyes and realized she was warm because she was snuggled up to