Rule Breaker(220)

            Were they now?

            Loki—that lying fucking Coyote and his master Dog—or was Jonas the master of both? Some days he wondered which Breed knew his own path and which Breed was merely content to allow Jonas to guide him.

            He grinned at the two Coyotes. “How you two have managed to escape Jonas’s matchmaking is what I want to know.”

            Dog’s brow arched with a measure of polite indulgence before glancing at Lawe. “Drunk already, is he?”

            “He’s getting there,” Rule assured the three of them.

            Lawe grunted at that, spearing a look in Dog’s direction as they seemed to share some unspoken message.

            Placing the glass to his side, Rule lifted the beer to his lips, and once again, when he lowered it, barely half of the brew remained.

            “I believe the reason your brother came looking for you”—Loki was the one to speak, the graveled tone of his voice always making Rule wonder what torture the Council scientists had devised to destroy his voice in such a way—“was to drag you back to our esteemed director for debriefing.”

            “I turned in my report.” He frowned, but the statement forestalled the next order.

            Why wait between each drink? Why the hell was he getting slowly drunk when he could do so in a few hours, rather than one drink per hour?

            Efficiency, he reminded himself, beginning to lift his hand to indicate more when Loki’s hand was suddenly securing his wrist.

            The animal reacted, existing far too close to the skin at the moment; the affront became an insult of unimagined proportion. Before any knew his intent, he lashed out with his right arm, his fingers curled into a fist of iron that plowed into Loki’s face before the Coyote could avoid it.

            He didn’t even have a second to enjoy the surprise that immediately transformed the Coyote’s face before he was thrown back, chair and all—Rule couldn’t help but laugh at the sight—and went flying backward.

            Rule slapped his thigh, laughing so hard that he admitted he just might be a bit drunk after all.

            Looking at Lawe and Dog, the complete shock on their faces, the widening of their eyes as their heads jerked from the sight of Loki sprawled out on the floor to Rule’s laughter, had him laughing harder.

            Until the animalistic snarl sounding through the room suddenly slammed into him.

            He didn’t go flying.

            Rule shook the sudden scattered lights from his vision before turning his head, very slowly, and loosing the animal snapping at his senses.

            “Fuck. Rule. You struck first.” Lawe was suddenly between them, directing a glare at Dog. “Contain your man.”

            “Contain my man?” He pulled a slim cigar from the leather vest he wore, his smile tight as he inserted it between his lips and retrieved a set of matches from another pocket.

            They all watched as though fascinated as he lit the tobacco. Until Rule looked over Lawe’s shoulder to see Loki, his lips drawn back from the curved fangs, his eyes lit with an inner fire that was frankly freaky.

            Rule had to laugh at the sight.

            Then Loki grabbed Lawe and tossed him out of the way before his brother could anticipate the move and compensate. Thrown off balance, he landed on his ass, snarling. “Fuck it. Kill his ass, Rule.”

            His senses opened. Hell no, he didn’t fight fair. His brother’s mate wasn’t here right now and neither was his own, and he was drunk. He might need a little extra—

            It was all he could do not to laugh as his left fist went for Loki’s face, struck and threw the Coyote into his commander. The cigar went one way and Dog went the other with a snarl . . .