Risky and Wild(22)

“We need to go back to the clubhouse,” I tell her and wait for the expression on her face to change. It does, but not in the way I'd expected. There's no fear or trepidation or even nervousness there, just a firm resolve that locks into place and makes that hard-on in my pants even harder. Fierce. Like a wolf, like another alpha.

Good. Because I never wanted a bitch.

I smirk at her, but she doesn't notice, her eyes on the front door as Dober comes back in. I turn and watch the two of them exchange a look. Neither looks particularly impressed.

This is going to get messy.

The clubhouse. The club. The other women.

They might not like her at first, but they'd best get used to it because I'm pretty damn sure I've just found them their new queen.





That creepy blond guy is waiting for us when we arrive at the Alpha Wolves Compound, a big smile on his face and a pair of … kitten patterned pajama pants on his legs? I have to blink three times at the sight before Royal leans over with a smirk and breathes hot against my ear, making me shiver.

“Glacier's completely insane,” he whispers. “Just try not to make eye contact with him.”

I do anyway, meeting the ice blue of his eyes before I get the chills again. Hmm. But as strange as he seems, at least he's smiling at me. That other guy, the one with the beard and the dragon tattoo, he looks at me like I'm the enemy, the one that dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night to haul bodies around.

Bodies that aren't really bodies, I remind myself because they're not dead. No, these guys are very much alive—but for how long? I cross my arms over my chest, hate, hate, hating that I'm still wearing my suit. I really should've changed. Next time, I'm not going to fight the urge; I'm just going to do it.

I breathe in deep, a salty ocean teased breath that fills my lungs and calms the racing of my heart. On the outside, I think I look calm. On the inside, I'm freaking out. What am I doing here? I think as I follow Royal up the steps of the redwood deck, the wood dotted with moisture from the fog, the branches of the giant evergreen trees above our heads shifting and waving in the nighttime breeze.

Inside, it's warm and quiet, the lights dimmed, the sitting area to my left empty, the staircase to our right dark. I reach up and ruffle my hair, keeping my gaze forward, my back straight. This is Royal's world, not mine, and the rules here are different; I have to remember that.

We enter the bar area, a few TVs still on, some glasses still dotting the bar. That blond woman I met my first night here—Fauna, I think her name is—stands behind the marble countertop with her husband, raising her eyebrows when she catches sight of me.

“Well, well, if it isn't Little Miss Deputy Mayor,” she says with a small smile, jerking her chin in the direction of one of the metal bar stools. “Have a seat, doll. You look like you could use a coffee.” I watch a subtle nod from her husband, Jack, as he runs his fingers down his dark beard and Royal lifts up a hand, gesturing for him to follow.

There's this split second where Royal hesitates, where I can see the muscles in his shoulders and back go tense, where he almost looks over his shoulder at me. I stare at the snarling wolf face on the back of his leather vest, the patches on either side as well as above and below it. An entire story, right there on the back of a cut.

I know what he's thinking in that frozen instance, if he should stop and talk to me, tell me that I have to wait here even though I hate it, even though I want nothing more than to follow him outside and down that pergola covered path, inside those wooden doors to the chapel.

Then time speeds back up and he's moving away, out the doors with four guys on his heels.

“Late night church session, boys,” is the last thing I hear before he disappears completely, and I take a seat on a chair made of welded motorcycle pieces, my hands just starting to shake. I shot a guy today. I might not have killed him, but I pulled a trigger and put a bullet through his arm.

“You up for some more Johnnie Walker?” Fauna asks with a laugh, flashing me those white teeth of hers. “If ever there was a time for drinking, now might be it.”

I hesitate for a second, glancing over my shoulder at the clock on the wall. It's a steel silhouette of a curvy woman on a motorcycle, one of the wheels decorated with black numbers. Holy crap. It's almost four in the morning, and I have work tomorrow.

I turn back to Fauna.

“Why the hell not?” I ask and she laughs again, putting a hand on her denim clad hip as she looks me over.

“That's the spirit, Deputy Mayor,” she says as she gets out the booze and pours me a generous glass, pushing it across the black marble with an understanding smile. I don't know how much she knows about Royal and me, but her gaze is sympathetic. “Rough night, I take it?”