Chapter Two
Ethan Blaywolf wrapped his towel tighter around his waist before dropping to his knees and leaning down under his bed. “Where the hell is it?” he muttered, as he dug through all the crap his roommates never picked up. Dirty t-shirts, old beer cans, an ancient porn mag. He briefly considered where that had been and wished he had on gloves. Fuck. All he’d done was get in the shower, the first one he’d managed in the rusted out trailer the gang of rogues had rented for the week. He should have brought everything he owned into the stall with him, no matter how wet it got in the minuscule space where the toilet and shower were all crammed into one.
“Where the hell is what?” Sven kicked him in the leg.
Ethan bared his teeth, his wolf ready to rise up and fight the other shifter, if necessary. “My backpack. I stuck it under here when I went into the shower.”
“Bart grabbed it and took it outside.” Sven grinned, showing off the gap where he liked to shoot tobacco out of his yellow stained teeth.
Ethan growled. Rising to his feet he ran out of the room, through the narrow hallway and into the main room that stank of pot, and out of the trailer, slamming the aluminum door so hard it banged against the wall. “Bart! Where the hell are you?” He followed the smell of Bart’s cigarettes past a small group of straggling pines all the way to the other side of the trailer.
“What is this shit?” Bart sat in one of the bent lawn chairs, his heavyset body bending the ancient aluminum legs. He reached into the old backpack, taking out a package of black ink pens and tossing the rest of the precious contents of Ethan’s backpack to the ground. “Pens, paper. What the hell, Blaylock. Where’s the good shit?”
Fur pushed at Ethan’s pores as his wolf rose to the surface. “Mine,” Ethan managed to get out, before the towel dropped to the ground and the shift overtook him.
His bones churned, pushing his skin out into the familiar ache of the shift. Fur sprang out, his nose pushed into a snout, and he dropped his mouth open to make room for the sharp point of his fangs. Within seconds he was big and black and furry. He leapt on Bart, his huge front paws slamming into the other man’s chest. Using his teeth he ripped the straps of his backpack out of the man’s hands. The impact had Bart tumbling to the ground. Ethan tossed his pack to the side and before Bart could even reach for the zipper on his jacket, it was over. Ethan had him by the throat, the dirty gray fur of Bart’s wolf filling his mouth. He growled and pushed his teeth in and Bart growled back, but he was belly up and trussed up in jeans and a jacket, unable to fight.
Ethan gave him a hard shake and Bart whined.
Bart wasn’t just heading toward the wrong side of forty, but he smoked too much weed and ate too much junk food to keep his physique in fighting shape. Ethan had him backwards and forwards and the older man knew it.
He gave one last warning growl, letting the rumble of his threat vibrate into the other wolf’s throat before letting him go, backing up and shifting to human. “Don’t you ever fucking touch my stuff again.” The words were barely human, but Bart whined and bowed his head, at least temporarily acknowledging Ethan’s dominance.
Ethan scooped up his art supplies, catching a glimpse of Sven watching from the window as he headed for the front of the trailer. He opened the door, too much adrenaline still singing through his veins.
“It’s just a bunch of crap.” Sven turned away from the back window and gave him a hard look. “Why do you need any of it?”
Eddy and Frank were sitting on the couch. Sven gave them a hard look and they both leaned back, obviously not interested in getting involved.
Ethan only gave them a passing glance. Sven was the one he had to deal with. Eddy and Frank were just betas along for the ride.
“None of your business.” He headed for the hallway and his room.
Sven moved right up into his face, pulling his upper lip back in a snarl. “You’re hanging with my gang, Blaylock, it’s all my business.”
Ethan considered his options. He’d been with Sven’s gang for a year now, and as far as rogue wolves went, they weren’t horrible. Sven made sure they had a place to sleep, food, and work, such as it was. Mostly it was petty theft, taking old cars and turning them into parts. Ethan hated it—hated living with the trash and the stink too—but he had to survive. That’s why when they were near a town like Snowflake, he took advantage of it and went and earned some cash the old fashioned way, with his skills.
“Well?” Sven gave a small growl.
His wolf, still revved up from the fight, rose up inside, ready to challenge Sven. For a second, Ethan considered it. He could take the older wolf, he was sure of it, but as rough as the loose group of rogues were, they fed his wolf’s need for pack. He’d been out on his own before, and it was lonely.
He shook off his aggression and gave Sven a sheepish grin. “I just like to get away, see what’s in town. And hell, it gives me an excuse to check out the women.”
Sven slapped Ethan’s shoulder and gave him a friendly shove. “Shit, yeah, boy.” He sat down on the sagging couch and grabbed the clicker, turning on the sixty inch TV they’d stolen still in the box from the back of some rich guys’ truck.
Ethan escaped the squeals of the reality bimbos in their bikinis with their fake fighting, and headed down the hall. After he’d gotten dressed and repacked his stuff he left. The living room was filled with smoke and both Sven and Bart barely gave him a nod as he left. Like most scuffles in the gang, it was already forgotten. He cranked the rebuilt engine of his seventy-five Indian motorcycle up. Reassured by the purr he headed down the long dirt drive for the road and the ski town of Snowflake.
Rogue leaders like Sven had to constantly bite their groups into obedience. Unlike packs with stable alphas, they formed and reformed constantly around whoever could take control. The six months he’d spent with this group of rogues had to be a record for Ethan. Ever since he’d been orphaned at sixteen, and his life had fallen apart, he’d been kicking the streets. His original pack had collapsed under bad leadership, many of them had gone into other packs, but an adolescent with a chip on his shoulder hadn’t been welcome. He’d wandered the country on his own for a while, staying clear of the organized packs. He’d hang out with one or two rogues at a time, splitting off when they got too violent and moving on.
Sven’s group felt like it was about to do that, fracture into pieces. They always did. And when that happened Ethan wanted to be long gone on his bike, with his own cash in his pocket and his art supplies in his pack. He’d survive. He always did.
Snowflake, a little ski-town ten miles off of the interstate, was just as cute a town as its name implied. Ethan had been here before, off and on over the years. He knew a few of the townspeople, and they knew him enough to know he wouldn’t cause any trouble.
During the summer months, they had farmer’s markets. Fall they had Oktober Fest. And now, in the frigid cold of a Rocky Mountain winter, everything was decorated to attract the tourists and to get them to empty their wallets. Christmas stores with bright lights that sold ornaments year-round, were having their heyday. Taffy shops, spelled SHOPPE, and fudge stores, were on nearly every corner. There was a pink and brown striped barber pole outside of the Scoop it Up! ice cream parlor. And everywhere were the tourists.
Ethan went to the corner where he’d done well the day before and scanned the area.
It looked good. It was right in front of the ice cream parlor that also served hot drinks and pastries during the chilly season. Customers would pause on their way in and out and he’d talk them into a cartoon of themselves as a superhero, manga style. And, if they didn’t have an ice cream cone or a cup of hot chocolate, he’d talk them into that as well. He’d always been able to smile and wink and get the pleebs to do what he wanted. It was his only gift. Well, that and his skills on the sketch pad.
He took out some samples of his work—grateful that Bart hadn’t damaged them in his quest to discover Ethan’s non-existent stash of pot, and mounted them to the small collapsible easel. Manga versions of superheroes were his specialty. He loved the way he could make the kids grin when he drew them, giving them longer hair, bigger eyes, and capes and superpowers.
The day was bright and sunny and not too cold, despite the snow on the ground. He’d done one or two cartoons for people, a little boy with a huge grin covered in chocolate smears, and was working on a young couple, holding hands. They were on their honeymoon, something he was sure he’d never have.
You had to have a job to get a wife, and when you were a rogue wolf, it was more complicated than that. Female wolves were highly prized, they were never pushed out of packs. Even as crabby adolescents they found homes. There were a few female rogues, but they were tough as nails and just as bound to the road as he was. And they all had mates of their own, tough hard-bitten men with suspicious eyes. He knew he’d never be invited to a scenting ceremony, never have the chance to find a mate.
He smothered the surge of envy and did a really nice job on the couple. They paid him with huge smiles on their faces and he suggested they go into the ice cream shop and celebrate with a coffee. They nodded, talking non-stop to each other, and went inside.
Something raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Without seeming to, he checked out the area. Across the street he saw a cop, leaning against a wall and staring at him.
“Shit.”
Should he move on?
Ethan glanced around. He was pretty sure no one had complained about him. He wasn’t causing any trouble.
Nah. He’d wait and see what happened. This corner was good. He’d worked it the day before and come back with a couple hundred bucks he’d managed to stash in his wallet away from the prying eyes of the other rogues. That he’d taken into the shower, stashing it on the shelf over the showerhead so it would stay dry. If he stayed here he might make another hundred, maybe more. Something was up with Sven’s gang, who knew where he’d be sleeping in a few days? Trouble was coming, he could smell it on the air.
The light changed. The cop left his wall and strode across the fake cobblestones of the intersection, a determined set to his jaw. He came right up to Ethan, getting far too close. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
Ethan’s hackles rose, but he pushed his wolf down hard. “Just trying to make an honest living, sir.”
“Yeah? What’s in the backpack? Drugs?” The cop looked fresh behind the ears, straight out of cop school. He definitely had a chip on his shoulder and by the look in his eye he was daring Ethan to knock it off and make his day. If only he knew how hard Ethan could knock. “We don’t like your kind in Snowflake.”
But Ethan didn’t bite. He was only a couple of years older but a whole lot wiser. He gave the cop an easy smile, making sure not to show too much teeth. “I’m just an artist. No drugs.” He held the backpack open so the cop could see inside. “Look, extra paper, pencils, charcoal. Nothing sinister.”
The cop crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on the heels of his feet. “I don’t like the way you look, son.”
A family with two kids made a wide berth around them. The little girl squealed and pointed at the picture of flying pink, blue, and green girls, but her parents pulled her aside and down the street.
Ethan cursed silently. Even if the cop left him alone, he might have lost his business for the day. No one wanted trouble in a sweet tourist town like this. No one.
Just as he was deciding what to do, the door to the ice cream shop swung open, the bell chiming merrily. A man came out, mid to late twenties with dark hair, wiping his hands on a white ice cream smeared apron. “Hi, Ben, what seems to be the problem?”
The cop’s shoulders went back and his chin shot up. “I was just asking this slime ball to move away from your store, Mike.”
Mike nodded. “I can see that. But can you do me a favor and let him stay? He was here yesterday and business doubled. People came and watched him draw. And he sends just as many inside as come out to watch.”
Ben’s forehead wrinkled up. He stared hard at Ethan. Finally he nodded. “Sure thing, Mike.” He waggled a finger at Ethan, giving him a stern look that changed his expression from young to threatening. “Remember, I’m watching you.” And he walked slowly away, hands open and ready for action at his sides, his back stiff.
Ethan turned to Mike. “Thanks, man. You didn’t have to do that.”
“No problem. Everything I said was true. Business is great with you out here.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Mike Stellar, by the way.”
Ethan took it. “Ethan Blaywolf.” It was a nice firm handshake, not too hard and aggressive, not too soft and wimpy.
“You know, you could come inside if it starts to snow. I’ll move that table and put you in the front window. We could even put a few pictures up on the walls, if you like.”
“Thanks, but I think I’m good.”
“Well, if you change your mind, come on in.” He took a step back, but before he went he cocked his head at Ethan and gave him a smile. “You’re good for business, Ethan Blaywolf, if you want, you have a place here.”
He had no idea what made this man offer him something that his own kind never had. He’d never made many friends, moved on too fast, but there was something about the easy smile on Mike’s face that had him wishing that some time he’d be able to do just that, hang out in one of these sweet tourist towns and make friends.
He shook it off. That wasn’t the way things were. He was a drifter. And that’s the way it was going to stay.
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
Mike nodded and went back inside, waving at someone down the street.
Another pang of envy went through Ethan and he frowned.
What the hell was wrong with him? First the newlyweds, now this. He was getting soft. Definitely time to move on. He changed to a quick flirty smile and grinned at the next person coming down the street, an elderly woman with a walker and oxygen. “Would you like a drawing of yourself as a superhero?” He winked at her and she blushed.
Ah, yes. This was what he understood. Flirting with the ladies to get a dollar. It was his life. It was what he knew. That, and being on the run. Survival, it was what he was best at. If he wanted more, well, it just wasn’t in the stars.