Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I let my eyes pan away, planning to ignore them. I know if I keep looking at them, there’s some chance they’ll look back at me, and I already know that would be bad for some reason that is circling my gut under the alcohol and drug.
Even though I’m no longer looking in their direction, I can still feel their presence. It’s like the entire room is a big piece of fabric extending from my body and they are weights rolling through it. They’re tugging on me in some intangible way.
The table next to me clears miraculously, and they sit at it.
What the fuck is happening. I am starting to get tense. My senses are tingling. Something is wrong. Fuck. Fuck.
I draw back into the shadows as much as I can, try to make myself smaller and even less worthy of notice. Maybe they haven’t seen or sensed me. I’m probably the least interesting person in this bar. From here I can see at least three people who are on the verge of killing someone else present. If I just wait another sixty seconds or so, someone’s probably going to throw someone else over the bar.
“There she is.”
A deep male voice cuts through the rumbling chatter in the room. Adrenaline surges through my system. There she is. I’m the ‘she.’ I’d put money on it, if I had any. I just don’t know why I am the ‘she.’
I glance out of my most peripheral vision.
They’re looking at me.
Talking about me.
I can still hear the rumble of their voices, but not specifically what they are saying.
My instincts are lighting up with all kinds of caution. These instincts are good. Very good. Sharpened by years of not being quite good enough at other times. Experience is a good teacher, but failure is the best one. I slip my knife out of my pocket sheath and hold it close to my body.
It’s been about thirty seconds since they walked in, and I am almost certain I am going to have to stab one of them. Maybe all of them. I don’t know who the hell they are, but they seem to know who I am, and I don’t like that at all. A knife might not be the weapon to use. It’s good for one, maybe two people, but it’s hard to stab three competent people.
I sheathe the knife, and unholster my sidearm. I don’t like guns much, but sometimes they have their place.
As I do, a big hand closes around my wrist, turning me toward the three men. The leader has grabbed me. Dark hazel eyes loom out from under the thick shock of his long and curling hair.
“Best be sure that’s a silver bullet in that little pistol,” he growls. “If I have to dig lead out of me, I’ll be whipping you until the wound heals.”
The hair on the back of my neck is so erect it’s like invisible hackles are raised.
I suddenly know what they are.
Not three handsome men.
Three big, bad wolves.
How the hell did I not know that this port was home to the most incredibly handsome and virile three wolves I’ve ever imagined, let alone encountered.
I’d started to imagine that men like these didn’t actually exist. Everybody knows that werewolves are real. Same way they know vampires are real. There’s a lot of differences between them, but the main similarity is that they’ll both rip your throat out. I’ve run into plenty of vampires. I’ve never met alpha wolves like this before. Not three of them. Not all in one place.
Sometimes, I’ll catch the scent of a lone wolf in the wilds, but they always seem to move on before I get close. I’ve encountered a few pack families, but I’ve given them a wide berth because the last thing I should be anywhere near is a family.
The feeling of having one big alpha’s hand wrapped around my wrist is a little too much. It feels like a hit of Zip coming right through my skin. Is his hand coated in drugs? It could be. I guess it is, in a sense. What I’m getting high on isn’t manufactured, it’s all natural.
Their scent is overwhelming. It’s like being hit with a chemical bomb. Makes my head spin. Makes me feel dizzy. Makes me scared in a way I haven’t felt scared in a while.
I’m used to physical danger. People want to kill me? Fine. People want to steal my cargo? Even better. But wolves want to come for the soft interior of my fucking soul? I’m not firing a bullet. I’m running.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he says, letting me go. “My friends and I want to talk to you about the cargo that’s coming off the ship with the black flags. Little bat got in our ears and mentioned that it hasn’t had the duty paid on it.”