Authors: Alicia Nordwell
The days ran into each other as he drove south, always south. Sometimes it felt like he’d been driving forever.
He didn’t have to go south just because Shane said so; his alpha had rejected him, but what else was he going to do? His wolf had been restless, unhappy at not having a home. After the first day, it felt more like he was being drawn to Carrow City than just driving to get out of Shane’s territory. He could’ve gone anywhere, but he’d come here.
If only he knew more about being a lupe. Everyone despised submissive wolves, even though Shane had sworn they’d evolved past their wild beginnings. Right. He’d been segregated early on, even before his hormones started surging. Tucker didn’t care anymore. He was going to survive on his own. He’d get some money and find a place, and then he’d look into online classes.
Tucker finally entered the city. He should’ve pulled into the first motel he saw, but he kept taking lefts and rights, seemingly at random, until he drove by a club. He came to a stop in the road, feeling an overwhelming urge to go inside.
The building looked something like an art gallery on the outside—a modern, sleek chrome façade highlighted by a huge sign with abstract shapes that reminded him of two wolves running side-by-side.
The sign on the front looked like heat-treated metal. He stared at it with wide eyes, trying to figure out why it looked so familiar. He pulled over, parking crookedly across the street. He loped across the street, peering in the windows, but the interior was too dim to make out much, even with his enhanced vision. He walked back to his truck in a daze and stared for almost an hour before realizing how much time had passed.
His rumbling stomach forced him out of his daze. Putting the car in gear with a sigh, he started to drive away. There was nothing to see, but Tucker kept looking in the rear view mirror until he turned the corner, strangely reluctant to leave. The steering wheel almost creaked in his white-knuckle grip as Tucker forced himself to keep going. He stopped several miles away at a convenience store and grabbed some food from the deli.
He pulled the meat out of the bun and gulped the hot dogs down in quick bites. He was thirsty, but he didn’t want to waste any money. He could drink water from the tap at whatever place he stayed in. He’d been sleeping in his car for days, and he needed a shower. The closest flophouse he could find was the epitome of a roach motel, but he got a room anyway. He was asleep in minutes after dragging the top cover off the bed. He left it on the floor and collapsed onto the lumpy mattress. Night had fallen by the time he woke up.
Tucker dug through his bags until he found some club clothes. The almost magnetic force drawing him to the club was still there. He had to circle around and park several blocks south—the place was that popular. In the daylight, the abstract sign had been intriguing. Highlighted by spotlights at night, it was breathtaking. He could definitely see the shape of two wolves stretched out, tails streaming behind them.
He knew people were looking at him, both men and women. He could feel their want, their
need
, like hands on his skin. Tucker crossed his arms over his chest and stood very still as he waited in line. Something pulled him to the building, kept him standing in a crowd of waiting partygoers, even though he wanted to leave. Wearing only a titanium chain necklace, tight leather pants, and a black tank top, Tucker walked into the club and glanced around. He felt eyes on him, but when he scanned the room he didn't see anyone staring. He hesitated. Tucker wanted to leave, but something kept him there. He slowly made his way to the bar.
Taking a deep breath, Tucker frowned. Something smelled familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint the scent that made his nose twitch. For about the millionth time he wished he had stronger senses. He decided to get a drink, though he didn’t have much money to waste on such luxuries. It was hot inside, and he began sweating immediately.
Tucker yanked his tank top over his head, tucking it into the back of his pants.
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked, her eyes feasting on his bare skin. She licked her lips as her gaze lingered on his chest.
“Umm, a cranberry and vodka, please.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” She flicked her long blonde hair, tipped with purple, over her shoulder with a little wink as she turned away to grab the vodka. Tucker shuddered as he was released from the hold of her lust. It made his stomach tighten a little. Tucker slipped his hand down to press against the dull ache. The entire club was filled with a sexual energy; the pulse of the pheromones in the air made the muscles in his back tense.
He shuddered, but letting them see his skin worked better than wearing a shirt. He’d gone into a club once with a shirt on and an aggressive woman had ripped it off to get to his skin. He’d gone dancing a lot before his last birthday; never getting carded made it easy, even if he wasn’t twenty-one. Half the time the bartenders had passed him free drinks, especially if he hit up a gay club.
He’d stopped going out to dance after the shirt-ripping incident.
“You let me know if you need anything else,” the female said, sliding his glass across the bar.
Tucker blinked. He’d slept for hours on sheets that stank of cheap washing detergent. He’d still been able to smell the human scent of whoever had last used the bed, but he’d been too tired to care. He was still a bit groggy, though the cool night air had woke him as he waited outside.
The bartender waited and then raised an eyebrow. “That’ll be six dollars.”
“Oh! Sorry.” Tucker slid a ten across the bar, grimacing. His cash wouldn’t hold out at prices like that, but he didn’t ask for his change just so he wouldn't have to speak to her again. He waited until she took the money to take a sip of the drink, avoiding any touch from the human's hand. Her lust was strong, but Tucker knew he wasn't looking for a female.
Being exposed to everyone, and unable to see anyone approaching made Tucker nervous, so he turned his back to the bar and scanned the room again, taking in the shadowy booths and circular wood tables ringed with stools full of men and women. The stage was empty, but the lights began to come on, spotlighting the front microphone. He took another sip, enjoying the bitter tang of the cranberry juice and the smooth vodka. He was jittery and uncertain of what exactly he was waiting for—what he’d felt so strongly before when sitting outside that afternoon.
He turned and put his empty glass on the bar and gestured for another. Singles were all he had left so Tucker slid a few across the bar, sighing at the feeling of warmth as the alcohol spread through his system. He shouldn’t be buying booze, but it took away some of the skin-crawling feeling of the stares watching him.
Speakers whined to life as the bartender pushed his drink toward him. The ice clinked in his glass as he turned back around to check out the band. He loved live music. It had a pulse that made dancing almost a joining between the crowd and the band. He wondered what type of music they’d play. He guessed rock, based on the rowdy way the crowd began to scream. Tucker looked up at the stage and froze. There were several large men, two holding guitars and one sitting behind a drum set. They all looked the same, with dark hair and eyes, their shirtless bodies baring taut, tan skin over thick muscles.
He barely got the glass back over the bar before it fell from his nerveless fingers.
A female stood in the center of the stage, lowering the center microphone. She was dressed in a short black skirt and a green blouse with loose flowing sleeves. A small golden corset revealed her slim waist; it accentuated her curvy figure and gleamed in the white glare of the spotlight. His nostrils flared. This was what he’d been waiting for.
These were his kind.
Shane had said there wasn’t a haitas here. What had Tucker walked into? It was too late to leave now; they’d catch his scent and follow him later if he tried to leave. He was too tired to drive any farther, and he really didn’t want to leave.
Without any introduction, the man on the bass guitar set up a deep throbbing beat. After a single measure the lead guitarist joined in, fingers moving in a fierce riff that settled into a weaving rhythm that synced with every fourth beat of the bass. With a quick triple beat the drummer joined in, and the trio wove a complex melody that, amazing as it sounded, faded into the background as soon as the female opened her mouth. From her throat poured notes of such purity that Tucker was unable to focus on the words. Her voice was like a siren call. He left the bar and began walking toward her without taking his eyes off the stage.
Like many of the other bar patrons, he stood mesmerized while the song continued, his body swaying to the beat in a small lonely circle. His breath rose and fell with the music; his hips rolled in a motion more suited to a private room. Something stirred in him, and he closed his eyes with pleasure when the singer’s voice rose and fell. His hands stroked up and down his chest and stomach as Tucker danced.
All but a few of the humans around him subconsciously leaned away from the intense pheromones his body was emitting. A few bold humans were more persistent, but for once he barely noticed them. At one point rough male hands gripped his hips from behind and yanked him back against a hard body. He stank of smoke and stale sweat. Tucker spun in his arms and shoved him back. The man’s fingers had left red marks on his bare sides.
Tucker gave the human a feral glare when he stepped forward. He froze until Tucker turned away.
“Screw you. You’re not that hot anyway.” Tucker ignored the huffy human, satisfied he wouldn’t try to touch him again. His attention was soon captivated by the energy of the band once more.
Several times during the song, the drummer would lean forward and sing along into a microphone positioned in front of him, his smoky baritone accompanying the woman's melody. Tucker blinked slowly as the last note faded away, and the instruments stilled. The crowd went a little crazy, cheering and clapping, shrieking for more.
“Hey, guys!” the drummer shouted into his mike. “For those new in the crowd, we are Daos. We have several more songs for you to enjoy tonight, including one new song.”
Tucker shivered, and the people grouped around the stage screamed in excitement. The dark-haired drummer smirked and twirled his drumsticks in his fingers, then began a quick pounding beat on the snare drum before the group launched into another song. This time the music captured him even faster, and he moved to the beat. Sinking into the pleasure he’d missed since he stopped going out dancing, he moved with the crowd, chanting the band’s name.
He couldn't believe they actually used the name of their kind as their band name.
If these lupes were an unsanctioned haitas, they might not know the danger they were courting. That would make sense—Shane wouldn’t have sent him here if he knew there were other lupes already claiming the city. What they were doing was dangerous and if they were discovered… the Hunters were something all the haitas feared, and if they found out—
Something pricked at Tucker’s consciousness.
He could feel the powerful auras of the daoi on the stage, and he thought that was what pulled him forward. As his gaze swept across the stage he fixated on a pair of yellow eyes staring out from a gap in the back curtain. Tucker stood motionless through the next three songs as the humans danced around him, totally oblivious, held mesmerized by the unblinking, predatory stare.
Then the lead guitarist stepped between him and the gleaming yellow eyes, breaking their captivating hold. Tucker staggered backward and drew in a ragged breath. He was trembling, and the hair all over his body stood straight up. Stumbling back a few steps, Tucker turned and wove through the crowded table area to lean against the bar. He needed some water.
“How about I buy you a drink?”
Tucker swallowed hard, the man’s want making his stomach churn. “No, thank you.” The liquor already made his senses too open to the people around him. Something in the bar was hammering at his wolf, and it was getting stronger.
It was the same thing he’d felt that afternoon, but it hadn’t been nearly as strong then. If it had, he probably would have kept going until he’d left Carrow City far behind. Tucker’s muscles twitched, his need coiling tighter in him. He couldn’t smell the pheromones he had to be emitting in response to his wolf’s panic, but the human wasn’t taking no for an answer.
The man reached out and slid and hand over his shoulder and down his arm, digging his thick fingers into his bicep. “You know you want me to buy you a drink.”
Why did that always happen? Why did he attract aggressive assholes? Tucker was about to turn around and head for the door when arms slammed into the wood on both sides of him, and a solid body pinned him to the bar.
Tucker tried to shove back and get away from the full body contact, but a throaty growl next to his vulnerable neck made him freeze.
The human couldn’t let go of him fast enough when the man behind Tucker growled, “Fuck off.” The asshole almost fell off the stool in his haste to run away. Hot breaths teased the sensitive hairs near Tucker’s ear. Each word was bitten off in a harsh snarl as the lupe said, “What are you doing in my territory, little lupe?”
Tucker couldn't speak. He was lost in the aura of power coming from the angry lupe behind him. He whimpered when sharp teeth bit down on his earlobe. He felt something inside him expand, and he arched his back, whining.