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.”