Gentry (Wolves of Winter's Edge Book 1)(33)

Asher was already out of the truck and making his way to the tavern, his  hands shoved into his pockets. Roman slammed the door and jogged after  him. He clapped Asher on the back, which got him a hard shove in the  shoulder from the quietest of the Striker brothers. So, everything  wasn't perfect. The brothers still fought like cats and dogs, and not a  day went by where they didn't end up in a fist fight or a wolf-fight,  but at least they wouldn't kill each other now. Probably.

Gentry helped her out of the truck, but he didn't lead her inside right  away. Instead, he pulled her against his chest and buried his face  against her neck. "Are you happy?"

"Silly wolf, of course I'm happy. Can't you feel it?"

"Not tonight."

Oh. Blaire slid her arms around his neck and held him tight, scratched  the back of his neck gently as she stared up at the starry sky. "I'm  nervous right now, but I'll be okay again when I don't feel like there  is this huge weight hanging over us. Odine said my lifeline is long and  strong now. And yeah, I didn't believe in that stuff before, but  everything is different now. I'm here, with you, where I'm supposed to  be. Now we just need to go secure my place in this town."

Gentry eased back and gripped her waist, leveling her with a look. There  was promise in his voice when he murmured, "I won't let anything happen  to you, Trouble."

And she believed him. How could she not? She'd watched him fight the  Bone-Rippers for her life at the risk of his own. He would have her back  always, just like she would have his. His devotion rang clear as a bell  through their bond, and she fell in love with him even more.                       
       
           



       

Gentry leaned into her, pushing her back slowly until her shoulder  blades hit the side of his truck. And with a wicked smile she found so  sexy, he kissed her. This one was a soft one, where their lips moved  slowly against each other. He angled his face the other way and brushed  his tongue against the closed seam of her lips as he cupped her neck and  touched her cheek with his thumb. Gentle Gentry, a beast in war, a  fighter, a protector, but with her, he was tender. Hard where he needed  to be for his family and for this town, but easy with her.

She didn't know how she'd gotten this lucky, but she would work to make  him feel her devotion back. Odine had once said she was meant to guide  him to his potential, and that witch was right most of the time. But  Blaire couldn't help but feel like it was Gentry who was leading Blaire  to hers.

Gentry pushed his tongue against hers in gentle strokes that made her  melt into his warmth. She would never get tired of this feeling of  safety he always enveloped her with.

A sharp whistle sounded from the Four Horsemen, and Gentry growled  against her mouth before he rolled his head toward Roman, who was  standing impatiently in the open doorway of the tavern.

Roman arched both eyebrows up and glared at them. "That's just great  that you're both making out while I'm in here trying to keep Asher from  murdering everyone."

"Right. Business first, making out later," she teased. Asher probably would murder the Bone-Rippers if they pushed him enough.

Gentry grabbed her hand and jogged toward the open door, his breath  freezing in front of his face. When he cast her a bright-eyed glance  over his shoulder, she was struck with how handsome her mate was when he  smiled like this-the easy kind that he only did for her.

"You ready to stir up some trouble, Trouble?" he asked.

"Ready," she said breathlessly as she followed him inside.

Gentry's wide shoulders were blocking her from the loud room, but the  second he stepped to the side and she laid eyes on the werewolves  gathered there, the noise dropped to dead silence and everyone froze.

"Holy, fuck," a man in his thirties said from where he held a dart up in  mid-air, ready to release it at a board on the wall. "You're supposed  to be dead."

Blaire smiled brightly. "You assholes turned me into one of you instead. Congrats. You failed epically. I need a drink."

"Whisky?" Roman asked hopefully from behind the bar, where he had apparently decided to play bartender.

"Ew. No. Something sweet."

"Does not compute," Roman said, dramatically pouring whisky into a row of shot glasses.

Blaire balked at everyone staring at her, but Gentry guided her toward  the bar with his fingertips pressed against her lower back. She sat on a  bar stool between Asher and a man who had visited her nightmares. She'd  seen his unlaced boots that night the truck had flipped. The night  she'd been hunted by wolves. The night her human self had died. Rhett.

She dared to meet his eyes so he could see how very un-human she was now. So he could see his failure to snuff her out.

Gentry locked his arms on the bar top on either side of her and kissed  her neck, sucking gently. She stifled the growl in her throat and leaned  back into her mate. If he wasn't worried, she wouldn't be either. With  her whole heart, she trusted Gentry.

He moved his kisses upward, bit her earlobe gently, and then angled his face toward Rhett. "You look like shit."

Indeed, he did. Rhett hadn't healed very well from where Gentry had  worked his throat over, and he was hunched and pale as he nursed a  half-full beer.

"What are you doing in my bar, Strikers?" he asked in a hoarse voice. He  looked tired and slow, but he still felt heavy enough that Blaire  stayed wary.

"Your bar?" Roman asked, passing out shots. "Didn't know your name was  on the lease, but okay. We'll pick a different bar next time."

"This is the only bar in town," a dark-haired woman said quietly from  where she stood, hands clasped in front of her, chin to her chest, eyes  wary and on Roman.

"False, Mila. You look hot by the way. Grew up right, nice tits. Bad  choice in friends though," Roman said, the humor melting from his voice.  "We're here with announcements. Four announcements to be precise."

"What announcements?" Rhett ground out. Oh, his eyes were glowing now, and he felt so much heavier.

"One," Gentry said, gaze locked on the alpha's. "Blaire's alive. If at  any point anyone here feels like that should change, I will burn your  mother-fucking pack to the ground."

"I will also do the mother-fucking burning," Roman said, lifting two fingers.                       
       
           



       

"Same," Asher said as he stared at Rhett with dead eyes.

"Also same," Blaire chirped up. "I have teeth and murdery instincts now."

"That's my girl," Gentry murmured and kissed her temple. "Two. Winter's  Edge will be re-opening within the week. It was the bar this pack hung  out at back when you were great. All are welcome. Three."

"Oh, I like three," Roman said, his eyes flashing with excitement.

"Me, too," Blaire agreed.

"Three … " The smile dipped from Gentry's face, and he glared at Rhett.  "This isn't over. I don't want your pack, but you killed our dad, and  then you tried to kill my mate. Don't take my lenience the other day for  weakness, alpha. I'm just more patient at hunting than you are."

"A toast to Rhett croaking," Roman said, lifting his shot glass.

Blaire giggled and lifted hers along with Gentry and Asher. "Croak!" She  tapped the bottom of the glass on the bar top, then tossed it back. It  was disgusting and made her eyes water, but she was tough about it.

Gentry hooked an arm around her waist and kissed her quick but deep.  Just enough tongue to make her dizzy with lust, and then he was leading  her back out of the bar behind Roman and Asher. The Strikers were giants  among men, confident in their strides as they walked out unhurried.

The buzz behind them grew until Rhett called out in a snarl, "What's the last one? You said there were four announcements."

Gentry turned at the door and gave a feral smile. "Four. There's a new pack in town."

"You're reviving the Striker Pack?" Mila asked timidly from the back of the bar.

"No," Gentry answered, pulling Blaire against him, side-by-side, just as  they'd stood in the street surrounded by the Bone-Rippers. Side-by-side  facing the fray together, now and always. Odine said there was a storm  a-comin', and she was right. "The Striker Pack died with my father,"  Gentry said. "We're the Wolves of Winter's Edge."