A Pack of Two. Jacky Russell
decided against shifting to owl form and looking for him from the air. The sidewalks were much too crowded and he probably wasn’t alone. This was stupid anyway. Why would he want to talk to me?
After one last long look through the milling humans, I ducked into a bustling sports bar. They had hockey. In jeans and t-shirt, I didn’t look anything like the scantily dressed women scattered along the bar, but that was okay. There were no supernaturals inside and all I wanted was to relax with a cold beer, a basket of nachos, and an obnoxious group of fellow hockey fans.
Melting into the crowd, I joined in with the drunken cheering and ridiculous singing. A tall, thin blond human climbed onto the bar stool beside me. I ignored him until he tapped my arm.
“Are you tired?” he asked in perfect English.
“Uh, no, not really, why?”
“Because you’ve been walking in my dreams all night and I can’t get enough of the way your ass looks in those jeans.”
I took a big gulp of beer and leveled the coldest look I had. “That is a terrible pick-up line.”
The human wrinkled his forehead before slithering off the stool and back into the crowd. A fresh beer appeared in front of me.
“On the house. You deserve it after that come-on,” the female bartender said.
We laughed and I spun on the stool, hoping for a better seat near a window. I liked to watch people. Humans were interesting, with their lovey-dovey ways and emotional melodramas. Romance was lost on me. You didn’t make it as far as I had in the military by living with your head in the clouds and waiting for a white knight to show up. Hell, if I saw someone in chainmail, he was going down.
A booth in the far corner of the bar finally opened, the googly-eyed couple leaving for more private surroundings. I sprinted to the open table, just beating a giggling group of bimbos. Leaning against the window and stretching out my legs on the bench would ward off any more pathetic pick-up lines.
Not.
Another human man slid onto the bench across from me. He seemed nice enough, but my Italian wasn’t so good and his English was terrible. The conversation lasted all of forty-five seconds before he smiled politely and excused himself. Poor guy took a bunch of ribbing from his buddies. Sorry. No speaka da Italiano.
It was a good hockey game, several goals and lots of fights. The nachos were hot and crispy, the salsa spicy. It was a great evening until the scent of musk ruined it.
Where the hell were the exits?
The musk grew stronger and so did the power associated with whatever werewolf was coming. There was no guarantee the werewolf coming in was hostile–heck, maybe he was just looking for a cold beer. It wasn’t unusual for werewolf guys to hook up with human women for a wild night of sex. Female werewolves didn’t generally hook up with humans. Human men couldn’t satisfy the needs of a werewolf.
However, it was odd since there was a pack run tonight. Lone wolves in Italian Pack territory weren’t likely and there was only one werewolf I knew wasn’t at the run. The musk was definitely male.
I licked my lips and tried to pinpoint the musk. Luckily I was sitting when I saw him, otherwise I may have become a puddle on the floor. Smoldering brown eyes made me weak. Broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist made me bite my tongue. A quiver started in my belly. My heart threatened to stop beating at any moment.
He’s really here.
Lucas smiled as the crowd parted. Every human woman turned to stare as he strode through the bar with the power and grace of a predator. His eyes locked onto mine and I smiled like an idiot.
“Breanna?” he asked as he stopped at the end of my table. His eyes sparkled and my body tightened at the thought of those powerful arms surrounding me.
“Hi, Lucas,” I replied, moving my legs so he could sit down.
His smile widened as he settled next to me, trapping me against the glass. I’d just willingly given up my only escape route. What the hell was wrong with me? God, he smelled good.
He was what was wrong with me. I was a pile of goo whenever he looked at me. Lucas oozed masculinity in a way that made me want to rip off his shirt and kiss him senseless.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
Oh dear God, he was polite, too? “No, please, be my guest.”
“I’m surprised you’re here by yourself.”
I laughed like a nervous teenager. “Pack run.”
He nodded but didn’t elaborate.
“I’m surprised you’re here by yourself,” I countered.
His forehead crinkled. “I was working late.”
Hmm, wonder where the phone bitch was.
“You are even more beautiful than I remembered.”
Beer went up my nose and a nacho wedged in my throat. My face was getting hot, but at least the nacho slid on down.
“I was across the street and saw you through the window.”
Well, wasn’t this embarrassing. I was the recon specialist and he’d spotted me. Maybe I was losing my edge.
Lucas cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Breanna. I’m being extremely forward here. I really wasn’t stalking you, I swear. I have a client dinner meeting at Danton’s.”
Him stalking me? I was the one who had flown up and peeped in his window. “Did you leave your client?”
He nodded before pulling his phone from his jacket pocket. His conversation was in Italian and I didn’t have a clue, but he hung up and smiled at me.
“Client meeting is over,” he said. “Would you like something more substantial than nachos?” His smile was contagious and I was turning to mush. Damn, he was gorgeous.
“Sure, cheesy fries are always good. Do you like hockey?”
“Love it.”
“For real? I’ve never met a wolf who liked any kind of sports.”
He motioned for the waitress and ordered a large basket of fries. “I played a little in college.”
My jaw dropped. “No way! Where did you go to college?”
He ducked his head and fidgeted with his beer. “Dartmouth.”
An Italian wolf educated at a private university in New Hampshire? Not what I’d expected.
“I had to be careful and not hit the puck too hard. A few panes of glass broke my freshman year when I missed the net.”
I grinned at him. “Bet you were the fastest skater.”
He beamed. “Hands down.”
The waitress arrived with the fries and we dug in. We talked about the hockey game and he explained the differences between European and NHL hockey.
“Would you like to go to a game? There’s one tomorrow night. I could get tickets.” The pink color in his cheeks was adorable. Damn, he was gorgeous and sweet.
My heart rate tripled. I almost choked on a fry. He was going to think I had some type of eating disorder if I kept choking.
“That sounds like a lot of fun. I don’t think we’ve got anything on schedule for tomorrow night.”
We cheered and jeered along with the human crowd as the hockey game wound down. He asked lots of questions about Bravo and exactly what I did. I’d never spent so much time talking about myself.
“I wanted to thank you again for saving my life.” Our eyes locked, our conversation stopping but our souls continuing to communicate. Our bodies touched, our fingers inching together on top of the table.