Chapter One
Four huge bikers stomped into Devil’s Den. Malcolm looked up from the bar, setting down his rag to give them a nod. They nodded back, little smirks on their faces like they wanted to start trouble.
“Too many bikers,” Thomas grumbled. He scratched at his beard.
Malcolm glanced over his shoulder at the other man. “We’re a fucking biker bar. What? Because it’s December now, you expecting some elves to show up?”
He snorted. With so many weird things in the world, maybe he shouldn’t be joking about elves. He’d never heard of something like that being real, but then again, most humans thought werewolves were nothing more than myth and legend, too.
Thomas shrugged. “Just saying, now that everyone’s talking about how Caleb ran the True Sons out of Glendale, everyone thinks this is some place for badasses, and so we get nothing but bikers and thugs anymore.”
“So? That story isn’t a lie, so what does it matter if people are paying their respects over it?”
The entire pack had gone to attack the True Sons, but Caleb pushed them out of Glendale by challenging their alpha. The average human biker might not know the supernatural details, but that didn’t change the fact that it was still an impressive feat for a single alpha.
Malcolm didn’t always like how flippant Caleb could be, but he had to respect the man’s power and bravery. In the end, it’d ensured that only one werewolf had to die that night. There weren’t enough of their kind anymore to waste lives on pointless battles.
Thomas grunted. “Yeah, not complaining about that. I’m glad Caleb took that son of a bitch out.”
His hand ran over some of the scars on his face. When the True Sons had jumped Thomas, they’d sliced him up with silver. The werewolf had been lucky to survive, but his face and body would hold the evidence of the attack until his death.
“Then what’s your bitch?” Malcolm asked. “You used to complain about all the college kids coming in, and now you’re complaining about all the bikers.”
“It’s such a fucking sausage fest in here. I didn’t want the college dudes, but I didn’t mind the college chicks.”
Malcolm snickered and nodded toward the new arrivals. “Go find out what they want. At least until a pack of hot college babes shows up. Maybe Sarah can send some our way.”
“Yeah, that’s even more bullshit,” Thomas said. “All the college chicks get scared off, but Caleb runs around with his college woman.”
“Sarah’s not in college anymore. She left graduate school.”
“Whatever.” Thomas opened the wooden hinge to step out from behind the bar, muttering as he headed toward the customers.
Malcolm poured refills for a few of the other men sitting at the other end of the bar and pondered his pack member’s complaints.
Thomas wasn’t wrong. Devil’s Den had been attracting a rougher crowd, even if it was mostly humans who didn’t realize that the battle between the True Sons and the bar was about werewolf territory and not just a big dick contest.
A drunken guy in a Cardinals shirt in the corner waved furiously. Malcolm grunted. Their main waitress, Caleb’s woman Sarah, was out with their alpha on a date. That meant he and Thomas had to make up for her absence.
The sausage fest complaint resonated a little more.
Malcolm poured another beer for the guy in the corner and walked over to him. “Assuming you want this?”
The man snorted. “About fucking time.” The guy was good size, even a little bigger than Malcolm. His Cardinals shirt and jeans relieved the beta. At least he wasn’t in an MC.
Malcolm set the beer on the table in front of the man, even though he would have preferred to knock him a few times with the mug.
The man glowered at him. “And where are my fucking wings?”
“I don’t know about your fucking wings,” another man said from behind Malcolm, “but I do have your buffalo wings.”
Malcolm glanced over his shoulder. His packmate and their main cook, Jace, stood there, grinning like an idiot. The blond pretty boy liked to crack more jokes than Caleb. Sometimes that could be annoying, but there were worse vices.
About the only thing he didn’t like cracking jokes about was his actual name, Jason, which he didn’t like.
Jace set the wings down in front of the pissed-off customer. The man responded with a grunt. He frowned and opened his mouth, but shut it at Malcolm’s glare. They didn’t need any trouble.
Malcolm turned to head back to the bar.
“What the fuck?” the man yelled.
The werewolf turned around. The man was staring down at his pants, his face red.
“What now?” Annoying customers had run Malcolm’s patience damned thin.
“You spilled my drink on me, asshole.” The huge man grinned, revealing teeth in sore need of major dental work. “I think I should get it for free, and the wings. Since you ruined my pants. Only fair.”
Malcolm snorted. “Are you shitting me right now?”
The man stood, cracking his knuckles. The murmur of conversations from across the bar died down. Everyone wanted to know what would happen next. Half the fun of a rough bar was getting to see a nice, vicious fight for the price of a few drinks.
Malcolm shook his head. The guy was just a human in the end. There was no way it’d be a fair fight. A human versus a werewolf beta was like a linebacker taking on a kid in junior high. Sometimes he wished the truth about shifters was out in the open just so he could avoid stupid confrontations.
The beta squared his shoulders. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna finish your beer and finish your wings. You’re gonna get out your wallet, and you’re gonna pay. Shit, don’t even need a tip, and then you’re gonna leave.”
“I leave when I say I’m gonna leave, asshole.”
Malcolm sucked in a breath. He didn’t like unnecessary trouble. If anything, fights led to things getting broken, and then the pack would have to pay to replace it. Worst-case, some asshole weredragon would show up asking questions and accusing the pack of violating shifter secrecy.
Still, without their alpha there, it was Malcolm’s responsibility to protect Devil’s Den. Sure, he couldn’t go full-out against a human, but he couldn’t let anyone think they could stroll into the bar and act like they owned it. Even if the wolves weren’t at risk, Sarah might be, or the other customers.
“Get the fuck out.” Malcolm pointed to the door. “I won’t even make you pay for the first beer.”
“You think you’re big shit, don’t you?” The man stepped in front of Malcolm. The stench of his breath filled the werewolf’s nostrils. Someone needed to brush their teeth more often.
“I think I’m the man in charge here asking you to leave my fucking establishment, yeah. You’ve overstayed your welcome, asshole.”
“Nah. I ain’t leaving.” The man shook his head and grinned. “Oh, you think I should give a shit because of the True Sons? I know about that. I heard that Caleb’s the man who kicked some ass.” He glanced around. “Don’t see no Caleb here, just see some bitch yapping at me.”
A growl sounded to Malcolm’s side. Thomas most likely. The beta kept his attention on the asshole in front of him.
Malcolm sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you, pal. But you’re making it really damned hard.”
The man pulled back his fist. Malcolm shot out a lightning-fast right jab first. The guy grunted and staggered backward.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” the man roared. He rushed forward.
Some people didn’t know when to give up.
Malcolm threw a wide right hook. His fist connected with the man’s face with a loud thud that filled the room. Several of the men nearby let out loud groans.
The asshole stumbled. Malcolm battered his face with a series of left and right punches until finishing up with another hook. The angry wings fan spun from the final blow, crashing into and breaking a nearby table.
The werewolf sighed and scrubbed his hand with his face. So much for controlling expenses. They needed better insurance if this sort of crap was going to be a regular experience.
The laid-out man groaned, blood streaming down his face. Two bikers rose from a nearby table, picked him up, and then tossed him outside.
“Don’t spill your drink next time, pussy,” one of the bikers shouted. They walked back in and closed the door behind them. Both gave Malcolm a nod of approval and sat back down at their table.
With the show over, the gathered customers returned their attention to their food, booze, and light chatter.
Malcolm let out a low growl as he stared at the broken table. Shit. Why couldn’t some smaller guy have thrown a punch? Or why couldn’t he have smashed a fist into the guy’s stomach so he wouldn’t go flying?
It was his responsibility to keep things under control, and he’d destroyed a table.
He grunted to himself and stomped into the back office. Inside, he slumped down behind the desk, resting his face in his hands. Some days he just didn’t know what to do with himself.
About a minute later, the door flew open, and Malcolm’s head jerked up.
Thomas stood there, a tight smile on his face, his brown eyes lit up in respect.
“What now?” Malcolm frowned.
“You did the right thing. Doesn’t matter who it is. We can’t let them think we’re little bitches.”
“I broke a table.”
“Whatever. Caleb’s broken more than a few tables in his time.”
“Clean it up for me, will you?”
Thomas grinned. “Only because I liked what I saw out there.” He turned and stepped out.
Great. One of the biggest hotheads in the pack thought Malcolm did the right thing. That made him second-guess himself even more.
A moment later, another man appeared in the door, Jace. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Not saying that guy didn’t have it coming,” Jace began with a shrug.
“But?”
“But it still seems like you’ve been itching to lay someone out the entire day.”
Malcolm furrowed his brow. “Huh. Really?”
“I think I know what the problem is.”
“And what’s that?”
Jace grinned. “You need to get laid, bro.”
Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Seriously. Look, not saying you have to go find some Blooded and knock her up, just saying, find a woman and have some fun. You’re a good-looking guy.” Jace ran a hand through his blond hair. “Not as good-looking as me, but you can still get a chick.”
A shifter needed a Blooded if they wanted any decent chance of siring another shifter, but it’d not been something Malcolm put a lot of thought or concern into.
“Who says I want a chick?”
“You’re a man.”
Malcolm shook his head. “I’m a werewolf.”
“A werewolf man.”
“There’s no such thing as a werewolf woman.”
Jace laughed, his blue eyes full of humor. “Come on, bro. Just saying, it’s something to think about. No shame in it, either.”
“Thanks.” Malcolm blew out a breath. “Now get back to the kitchen. We’re still full of customers.” He grunted. “I’ll be out soon myself.”
Jace winked and saluted. “Aye, aye, beta.” He opened the door and hurried out.
A woman. That was the last thing Malcolm needed. He wasn’t like Jace. He didn’t do casual sex.
That meant Malcolm needed someone who knew what was going on with wolves, someone like a Blooded, but women with werewolf genes weren’t exactly just falling out of the sky.
He couldn’t risk a relationship with a normal human, so that left him fucked.
The truth was he’d probably never get the kind of woman he wanted. Just because he’d ended up in a rough pack didn’t mean he wanted that kind of woman. And even someone like Sarah, a Blooded who liked big, rough guys but wasn’t that way herself, was going to be damned hard to find.
Malcolm growled. He wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed about women or the fact Jace might be right. His hands curled into fists.
It didn’t matter. He had his pack, his brothers. They would have to do.