PART ONE
Claimed By The Wolf Brotherhood
“Hey, Boss? There’s some guy outside who wants to talk to you.”
Aiza Simpson sighed and pulled her attention away from her spreadsheets. It was difficult to shift her attention from the maddening minutia of numbers and formulas, but this was the third interruption in thirty minutes, and it was probably time to accept she would not be balancing the bar’s books that night.
“What guy? And what does he want to talk about?”
“A big guy.” Cyn demonstrated by holding a hand far above her head and then her palms wide apart, miming a very big guy indeed. “Biker.”
“What does he want?”
“He didn’t say. He just told me he wanted to talk to you. I told him you were busy and that he could talk to Chad instead, but he said he had to talk to you.”
She had no desire to speak to a big biker, but this was the third night a man matching that description showed up after closing time, demanding to see Aiza. Clearly, this asshole was not going to take a hint. Maybe if she got the meeting out of the way, the stranger would leave her alone and she would actually get some work done.
“Okay. Tell him I’ll be right out.”
“Actually, I think right here is just fine.” A giant man clad in leather from head to toe pushed Cyn out of the way and filled the doorway. “Aiza Simpson, you’re not an easy woman to find.”
“I didn’t know anyone was looking for me.”
“Should I—” Cyn started.
Aiza waved her away. “Go finish up for the night and get home.”
“Sure thing.” She shot the stranger a suspicious look and then ducked past his shoulder and scurried from the office.
“So, Mr.—”
“Butch.”
“Mr. Butch, what can I do for you? If you’re trying to book your band, you will need to speak with Chad. I don’t handle any of that.”
“It’s just Butch, and no ma’am, I’m not trying to book a band.”
“Well, have a seat.” Aiza lowered herself to her chair, reminding herself that she owned the place and that this man could not intimidate her, even if he chose to remain standing, looming over her desk.
“I’m here to talk about your taxes.” His voice was a low rumble that came from deep in his chest, and as he spoke, Aiza realized the left side of his mouth didn’t move. Puckered flesh marked a scar that stretched from his nose to his chin.
“Taxes? You don’t look like someone who works for the Internal Revenue Service.”
“I work for the Brotherhood.”
Aiza’s mouth ran dry but she was careful to school her features, keeping her face completely calm. “Which brotherhood?”
“The Wolf Brotherhood.”
“I’ve already told your associates that I will not be part of that racket.”
“If you don’t pay your taxes, how will we protect you and this lovely establishment?”
“I don’t need protection. People come here because they’re looking for a good time. Your kind isn’t welcome here.”
Butch came around to her side of the desk, the heels of his boots thumping against the wood floor. He stood so close she had to tilt her head back to see his face, but she refused to lean back or move away from his great bulk. “This town belongs to the Brotherhood. And so does everything in this town.”
“This bar belongs to me. If that’s not clear to you, I’ll be happy to call the cops and press charges for trespassing.”
“Trespassing? Who’s trespassing? I’m just here to have a little chat.” He glanced down at her desk and his hand shot out without warning, knocking her computer to the ground. “But if you want to call the cops, you’re welcome to.”
“Nobody wants the cops involved. Just go tell your boss or your alpha or whatever that I’m not paying.”
“Is that your final answer?”
“It’s the only answer you’re ever gonna get from me.”
“That’s a shame.” He hooked his hand under her desk and flipped it like it was made of cardboard. The resulting crash was loud enough to make her jump, and all she could do was pray that the heavy wood hadn’t landed directly on her laptop. Most of her information was backed up, but not the most recent updates to her spreadsheets.
He walked out of the room without another word and she followed quickly behind him, wincing as glasses, bottles, and plates fell to the ground in his wake. Two of her waitresses yelped and jumped at the unexpected crashes, and Chad watched the destruction with a gaping mouth, looking even more like an idiot than usual.
“Cyn, get this glass cleaned up. Chad, come back here and help me out.”
He didn’t need to be told twice, thankfully. He silently helped her right the desk and watched as she gingerly picked the laptop up from the ground. One of the hinges was broken, but the screen came to life and nothing else appeared to be damaged.
“How much did he want?” Chad asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Didn’t you ask?”
“Why would I ask?” Aiza said, gathering up the receipts and invoices that had gone flying. “I’m not paying any amount.”
“What do you mean, you’re not paying any amount?” Chad’s voice had an undeniable tremor. “Look, Aiza, I know you’re new to all this, but he’s going to come back. And when he does, he’s going to want more. And they’ll just keep coming back until they’ve taken everything.”
“What are you saying? That I should just let them push me around and extort me? That I should write them a check? This isn’t Chicago in the 1920s, Chad, this is 2016. I don’t have to put up with that bullshit.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s 1916 or 2016. Men like that? They don’t take no for an answer.”
“Go see if Cyn needs any help. Then you can both go home for the night.”
Chad opened his mouth like he had another argument, but Aiza was done with the conversation. She turned her back on him and pretended to be absorbed by her paperwork, but she couldn’t see anything past the blurring of tears in her eyes. In the six months since she bought the controlling interest in Paul’s Tavern, she’d been insulted, cheated, lied to, and harassed. She’d lost ten pounds and any memory she’d ever had of a good night’s sleep. She no longer had personal days off, no longer had peaceful moments or pleasant dreams.
But all of it—the pain, inconvenience, sweat and tears—had been worth it. All she ever wanted was something she could call her own. Something she could build and nurture and hold up with pride. Every back-breaking minute of work proved her dreams were coming true—but now, every drop of blood and sacrifice she made could be wiped away by one piece of shit.
No, not just one. A whole pack of them. A whole Brotherhood.
“The shit Brotherhood,” she muttered under her breath. Well, if the shit brotherhood thought they could take everything away from her without a fight, they had another thing coming. She’d go down swinging. She’d scrap and spar and scuffle until she had no strength left, and then she would fight a little harder.
First, she would need to prepare for their next meeting. She had no doubt Butch would return, as promised, and when he did, she would be ready for him. He might not take no for an answer, but a bullet would speak plenty loud, and it would get her message across, even to deaf ears.
When she emerged from the office, the bar was empty and the shards of broken glass had been cleared from the floor. She circled the small space, running her fingers over the smooth, well-worn tables and chairs, straightening the frames on the wall, dusting the tops of the light fixtures with the rags she always kept tucked in her belt.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Aiza vowed. “I don’t care what I have to do. Whatever it takes.”
When she finalized the sale of the bar with Paul, he’d advised her to purchase a gun. Aiza had never been a fan of firearms, and she couldn’t imagine herself killing another human being—well, at least until that night. Now she took great pleasure in picturing Butch’s smirking face being torn apart by a well-timed bullet. She decided to look into getting a gun the next morning.
After another walk-through to make sure that everything that should be off was off, everything that should be on was on, and everything else was clean and secure, Aiza left through the service door, careful to pull it shut behind her. It wasn’t raining, yet, but she could smell it in the air, and the sky was overcast, the heavy clouds colored orange by the city lights. Long after last call, the streets were deserted and the parking lot was empty—except for her little Honda.
She’d crossed that parking lot by herself a thousand times before in the ten years since she started there as a dishwasher. She’d moved from dishwasher to waitress to bartender to manager to owner in that time, and every day of that journey had been punctuated by that very walk, but now she couldn’t quite bring herself to take the first step. She scanned to the left and then to the right, looking for any movement in the shadows, but she saw nothing. She heard nothing. Her senses told her the way was clear, but her instincts kept her by the door, screaming at her to go back inside, push the deadbolt, and call the cops.
Aiza was just about to silence those instincts when she heard it: nails scraping over concrete. A whisper of a sound that would have been lost during the day, drowned out by traffic and voices. But in the night, Aiza heard it as clear as a bell. She barely had time to register the sound before the shadows shifted and something lunged from the darkness. Her instincts kicked in before her training, and the world seemed to move around her as she shifted from two legs to four.
As a wolf, she was stronger, faster, and far more deadly, but the other wolf had a running start and hit her with enough force to drive her to the ground. She yelped and whipped her head around, her sharp teeth slashing through the air and finding just enough flesh to draw blood. It was the attacker’s turn to yelp as she tightened her jaw, biting down with all her strength, tearing fur and flesh from the lean wolf’s shoulder.
They broke apart, snarling. As a human, Aiza might have noticed that her opponent was far too big for her to take down. As a human, she might have noted the copious scars, the wounds he wore as marks of pride, signaling every fight he’d won. But as a wolf, all Aiza knew was that she had to protect her territory. The wolf lunged forward and Aiza leapt in the air to meet him, not willing to give Butch so much as an inch. She went low, aiming for his underbelly, but his long claws snagged her face, tearing a deep hole through her cheek. That didn’t stop the trajectory of her attack, however, and her teeth sank into his stomach like hot knives through butter.
Aiza growled, whipping her head from side to side, using the full force of her weight to tear through his guts. Butch’s howl was one of mingled pain and fury, but he somehow managed to wrap his jaws around her neck. At the first hint of pressure from those sharp points, Aiza released her hold and sprang back. Blood as black as oil poured from their open wounds, splattering across the parking lot like a gruesome Jackson Pollock painting.
Aiza felt herself growing weaker, but she didn’t register any pain; didn’t register the implications of her slower reflexes. All she knew was the taste of blood on her snout and the need to defend her territory at all costs. She might have paid the ultimate price, but the darkness around her shifted again as a gray wolf sprung through the air.
The newcomer landed on the back of Butch’s neck, ripping him away from Aiza with a strong bite. The two wolves rolled across the ground, teeth flashing white, long legs flailing and tangling together. The newcomer found his feet first, and still unharmed, took advantage of Butch’s weakening legs, burying his snout in Butch’s throat and biting hard. The other wolf’s howl was cut off, turning into a thick gurgling sound as blood poured from his throat and his mouth. The newcomer held him in place until he stopped twitching and his body went limp.
With the threat removed, Aiza shifted back to herself. She was exhausted, yet her nerves were screaming, sending her entire body on edge. She felt like she could run for miles; she wanted to scream and needed to work the excess energy out of her system. She stood on shaking legs, blood streaking down her naked skin. The gray wolf shifted as well, giving Aiza a perfect view of his finely muscled, familiar form.
He turned to her, shoulders rolling back, long hair blowing in the wind. Aiza’s heart still raced, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He closed the length between them in two long strides, his strong fingers closing around her shoulders. His grip was tight enough to leave finger-shaped bruises as he lifted her feet off the ground, carrying her to the hood of her car.
Her legs wrapped around his hips automatically, pulling him against her welcoming body, and their mouths clashed. She tasted blood on his lips and tongue, and she knew he must have tasted the same coppery combination from her own mouth. His erection slid against her bare, soft thigh, and she felt the pulse of his heart pounding through his rigid flesh. He reached between them and guided his length to her opening.
He entered her in one long, hard stroke. They’d been silent except for their ragged breathing, but as soon as he filled her, they both cried out. She clenched around him, pulling him as close as possible, her head dropping back with pure relief. The entire car shook with the force of his thrusts, and her body absorbed the shock of his strength, sweat gathering on the back of her neck, rolling down her throat, smearing across his skin. A breeze picked up, rolling over her heated flesh, bringing her nipples into two tight peaks. His thumbs rolled over the nubs as he rocked into her, his mouth pulling into a smile as she moaned and bucked her hips.
Her fingernails raked over his shoulders and down his back as the flames of pleasure fanned through her. She gripped the back of his head and dragged his mouth back to hers, using the pressure of his lips to muffle her growing moans. His tongue moved against hers, and he snapped his hips in just the right tempo, pushing her closer and closer to the edge she was reaching for.
His mouth moved from her lips to the side of her neck, the tips of his sharp teeth playing over her slick skin; the pressure was enough to make her shudder. Once she started shaking, she couldn’t stop, her body quaking with the power of her release. That was the moment his teeth sank down, and though the pressure was hard enough to leave a bruise, she didn’t feel a second of pain; only pure sensation as the pleasure caught into an inferno, fueled by adrenaline from the fight and the endorphins always released when she shifted into a wild creature—a creature powerful enough to kill.
She howled as she soared over the edge, the sound carrying across the sleeping city.
“God, Dwight,” she clutched his hair and pulled his head back, “why can’t you ever be on time?”
“Get out of here before the cops come, Baby Doll.”
“You get out of here. I’ll talk to the cops,” Aiza said, voice full of righteous fury. “That guy attacked me.”
“No, Baby Doll, you’re not talking to anybody.” He released her and straightened. A moment later, he was moving to his motorcycle for his clothes. She shivered and looked around, but her clothes were not only out of reach, they’d been completely shredded by her sudden transformation.
“Bring me your jacket.”
Dwight complied, fishing out a cigarette before handing it over.
Her face twisted with disgust as he lit it and took a long drag. “It’s not your decision.”
“It’s my decision to keep my head attached to my shoulders,” Dwight countered. “Butch was a pretty high-ranking member of the Wolf Brotherhood.”
“All the more reason to talk to the cops,” Aiza argued, shrugging the heavy leather jacket on. She’d never admit it, but she loved the way Dwight’s jacket smelled—especially now that her senses were heightened by her lycanthropy. She could just imagine his smirk if he ever found out that piece of information.
“Either the cops give the Brotherhood a hard time and they retaliate by coming after you, or the cops tip off the Brotherhood that you’re looking to give them a hard time and they come after you. They know he was here tonight.”
Aiza’s eyes narrowed. “And you knew he’d be here, too.”
“Paul’s Tavern is part of the regular route.”
“Well it’s not Paul’s anymore—it’s my goddamned tavern. That’s it, first thing Monday morning, I’m changing the sign. After I buy a gun.”
Dwight eyed the dead wolf. “You don’t need a gun, Baby Doll.”
“You’re the one who killed him. You’re just trying to save your own neck. You don’t want the cops to tip off the Brotherhood to what really happened.”
“And what really happened, Aiza?” He took her by the shoulder, his eyes boring into hers. “Is it that I saved your life?”
“Dwight—”
“There is a world of hurt waiting for you once they know about Butch. I’d just as soon avoid that, but hey,” he raised his hands and smiled a smile that wasn’t very warm, “it’s up to you.”
The thought of covering up a man’s death—even if she didn’t regret the death itself—made her sick to her stomach. She hadn’t done anything but defend herself, but that defense was weakened considerably by an obstruction of justice charge. She’d lose everything if she went to jail. Her bar, her house, everything.
But none of that would count for much if she was dead.
“I’ll go home.”
“And you won’t mention this to anyone.”
Aiza shook her head, the sick feeling in her stomach growing worse by the second. “I won’t mention this to anyone.”
“Good girl.” He hunted around the parking lot and found her purse. She accepted it with numb fingers and a nod of thanks.
“I’ll be by later for my coat. Don’t let anyone else in the house.”
At that moment, she had no intention of letting him into her house. All she could think about was a stiff drink and a hot shower, but ultimately, neither quieted her nerves nor calmed her upset stomach.
Aiza’s home was her sanctuary. The one place the rest of the world couldn’t touch her and wasn’t welcome. She rarely invited friends, or boyfriends, to her home; her need for privacy was too great. Most of the time, her friends or boyfriends respected her boundaries and didn’t press for more, but Dwight was neither a friend nor a boyfriend, and he had no reason to respect her boundaries.
She met Dwight at the bar while she was still waitressing. He was a regular and he tipped well, and though he wasn’t her type at all, she still found herself responding to his flirtations and smiles. She never intended to sleep with him, and after she slept with him the first time, she didn’t mean to sleep with him a second time—or a third time. It was a mistake. That’s what she told him each time, and yet it appeared he was her favorite mistake to make because, like a moth to a flame, she just couldn’t keep away from him.
Even after he turned her into a werewolf.
Especially after he turned her into a werewolf.
She inspected her home with the same care she used at the bar, checking the locks on her doors and windows and arming her security system. The security system was still new; she had it installed after her turning. Dwight had warned her that the Brotherhood forbade anyone in the pack from making new wolves, and though she didn’t quite understand why that was her problem, she still took as many safety precautions as she could.
As soon as she secured the place, she stripped Dwight’s jacket from her shoulders and climbed into a hot shower. The water turned pink as it ran down the curves of her body and pooled at her feet, but most of the blood had dried and needed to be scraped off with her loofah. Her injuries were minor and already beginning to heal, but they still stung under the hot water. Her eyes burned and tingled, but she blinked back the tears; there was no reason to cry. She was fine. She would continue to be fine.
Everything would be fine.
No matter how many times she repeated that to herself, she couldn’t quite believe it.
Once she was out of the shower, she wrapped herself in her fluffy fleece robe and put the kettle on to boil water for tea. Her stomach growled with the same ferocity as a wolf and the accompanying pain drove her to the fridge. She was always horny and hungry after she shifted into her lupine form. Now that Dwight had satisfied one craving, she was left to prepare her own dinner. All she wanted was meat—lean, red, raw meat. She scanned the fridge and zeroed in on a pound of ground beef, deciding that a burger made very rare would fit the bill.
While her tea steeped and the burger cooked, she downed a double shot of good ol’ Kentucky bourbon. It burned all the way down, but in a good way that left her skin flushed and tingling. Another double, and she started to feel somewhat normal. She fished her phone out of her purse to see if Dwight had called; he hadn’t, but her sister, Sera, had.
She felt a familiar pang when she saw her sister’s name. It had been years since they last spoke—not because Aiza didn’t miss her or love her, but somehow, the longer she went without speaking to her family, the harder it was to call them.
So many things had changed, in both good and bad ways. What would she say? I’m doing really well now. I have a house, a bar, and oh yeah, by the way, I’m a werewolf, and I just killed a man.
“Tomorrow,” she promised herself. “I’ll give her a call tomorrow.”