The Wolf Fount (2 page)

Cal smiled, affectionately slapping the shorter man’s shoulder as he passed him. The Fount, or First as the newer Weres called him, was six feet five of powerful, natural muscle, topped with dark brown hair and eyes. His pace was deceptively slow, though his long legs made short work of crossing from the bar to the dance floor. “Mind if I cut in?”

The younger Were turned a startled face toward him, his muddy blue eyes widening. Cal fought a frown. None of his kind should be unaware of his presence, not even a recently Awakened one. “No, sir.”

“I mind.” The woman glared, a slight sneer twisting her lips. She didn’t move back, staying pressed close to the younger man. Her eyes were gray-green and narrowed. “So fuck off.”

“No can do, darlin’. He’s not up to your weight class.” He patted the younger man’s shoulder in silent apology for the remark.

That made her let go, and she turned to face Cal, bringing her fists up to rest on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her dance partner took the opportunity to melt into the crowd. Cal chose to assess her before answering, his eyes sweeping slowly from her booted feet up.

She was of course shorter than he, though the boots with four inch heels added to her height, long-legged and lean. Fit, but not enough muscle definition to mark her as a fitness fanatic. A modest amount of cleavage showed at the V of her top, and she had a pretty face in spite of the stubbornly clenched jaw and lowered eyebrows making it clear that she was in a grouchy mood. Blonde-streaked, light brown hair cut in chunky layers accentuated her high cheekbones and left her neck mostly bare.

Necks happened to be one of Cal’s buttons. She had a long, graceful one. “It means that you’d eat him alive.”

“What’s it to you?”

“I own this place, and like to save my regulars heartache when possible. Do you want to dance, or would you prefer a drink?” He watched her eyes, searching for the spark that would mark her as a Sleeper. All he discovered was a belligerent attitude as she continued glaring. His size didn’t seem to impress or intimidate her. “Come on, darlin’. Dance or drink?”

“Is there a third choice?”

“Third, maybe a fourth.”

“What are they?”

“Well, you could let me in on why you’re so angry, or behind Door Number Four is me escorting you out.” He shrugged. “Pick one.”

Lips pursed, she relaxed slightly, her glare losing intensity. “Drink.”

“Good choice.” He reached out to take her right arm, intending to guide her to the bar, but she stepped back. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“You’re grabby. I don’t like grabby.” She stalked past him.

Lips twitching as he fought a smile, Cal followed, his eyes dropping to watch the sway of her hips and the flex of her ass under the tight denim. When they reached the bar, he asked, “What’s your pleasure?”

She named one of his personal favorites among whiskeys. “Got any Turf Mór?”

“We do.” He signaled a bartender and placed the order for a bottle and two glasses. Meanwhile, she watched the crowd with keen interest. “My name’s Royce Calhoun. Most call me Cal.”

“Morgan. You really own this place?”

The bottle and glasses arrived. He nodded while pouring them each a shot.

“What does Chanteloup mean?” She mangled the pronunciation:
chant-a-loop
.

“It’s
shawn-tay-lou
. It means ‘song of the wolf.’”

Her eyes flicked to his before she took the glass he offered and downed the shot. “Weird name.”

“I like wolves.” He took a sip, enjoying the strong, peaty first taste. Setting the glass down, he leaned an elbow on the bar top and studied her face. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“What makes you think that?” A shimmer of gold crossed her eyes, possibly caused by the light show.

“You’re jumpy and keep looking around.”

“Maybe I’m waiting for someone. You’re being stingy with the whiskey.”

Smiling, he poured her a double. “Waiting, or looking?”

“Both. Neither.” Morgan slammed the double down and stood up, the fingers of her left hand drumming on her thigh. “I have to go. Thanks for the drinks.”

This time, he was successful at catching hold of her arm by rising at the same time, but almost let go as a hot surge of electricity shot up his arm. She flinched, her head tilting back to meet his eyes, and he saw the sunburst of gold surrounding her pupils.

She was a Sleeper. That shock, though... Cal hadn’t ever experienced anything like it before. “Don’t rush off. You’re safe here.”

Morgan slowly sank back down on her bar stool. “Let go of me.”

He didn’t, relatively certain she’d run. Awakening was a confusing, sometimes terrifying, experience because of the strong urges that flooded Sleepers. Only about one in four Weres were female, so she’d be a welcome addition to their ranks, with her pick of men once settled into her new life. “Let’s dance.”

“I said, let go of me.” Morgan’s lips drew back to bare her teeth. Her canines were slightly prominent, indicating she wasn’t many days from being fully Awakened.

“Calm down.” He let a faint growl underline the order, to add force to it. It didn’t always work on Sleepers, but she blinked, her lips compressing into a thin line. The gold in her eyes disappeared, which meant she was most likely a wolf. “No need to get nasty. We’re all friends here.”

“Says you.”

“Let’s dance and then have another drink.” He waved his free hand to catch a barkeeper’s attention. When one of them hurried down, he pointed at the bottle and glasses. “Keep an eye on these for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on, darlin’.” He led her to the dance floor, tugged her close, and flattened his left hand across her lower back before releasing her arm. She held herself stiffly, arms down by her sides. A faint crease appeared between her brows as she gazed at his face.

“Deep” by Nine Inch Nails began to play, and Cal slowly built a cocoon of warm acceptance around her. By the time the song ended, she was swaying with him, her right hand resting on his upper arm. Always a welcome guest, his arousal was beginning to rear its head.

Next up was “Fresh Blood” by the Eels, and he smiled at how well it suited his mood. Around them, some howled along in the right places. Morgan’s throat worked, but she didn’t join in. He kept his eyes on hers and realized Daniel was DJing as a club mix of “Cry, Little Sister” followed. Daniel had a fetish for music with supernatural themes.

Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips, and Cal’s full attention focused on them. Heat flashed down his spine and he lowered his head to give into the sudden temptation. Morgan pushed up to meet him, closing her eyes. The electricity jolted him, causing the hairs at the base of his skull to bristle.

Cal licked her bottom lip and she responded, opening her mouth to him. He took a slow, thorough taste, enjoying the subtle notes of fruit and pepper the whiskey had left behind. Under it, she was just as sweetly spicy.

She pressed closer and his cock jerked in response. He was taking her upstairs, just as soon as possible.

As though in approval of his plan, Jace Everett's “Bad Things” began playing. Wondering if now were too soon, Cal pulled free just enough to look at her face. Eyes still closed, she strained to catch his mouth again. He obliged her, shivering at another heavy jolt.

The surges danced right along the edge of pain and pleasure. He puzzled over them, letting her take control of the kiss. His distraction was brief as she turned it from a mere kiss to a slow, hungry tongue fucking that set fire to all of his senses.

They definitely needed to get upstairs, or the crowd was going to get a floorshow. One that might scar the humans present for life. He began to pull back, but Morgan grabbed a handful of his hair, hooked her left leg around his right one, and hitched herself upward.

A groan escaped him, and he grabbed her rear with both his hands, caught between his rising need and her obvious hunger as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Jake’s voice was a cold dash of water. “Uh, Boss?”

Morgan jerked, yanking Cal’s head back, and opened her eyes. They were bright green, a strong sunburst of gold spinning around her pupils. Lips parted, she stared and let her hand fall from his hair.

“People are beginning to stare.”

By people, Cal knew Jake meant the humans present. He gritted his teeth. “We’re going upstairs.”

She had other ideas. Planting her hands on his shoulders, she unwound her legs and shoved with surprising strength. Startled, he let go, dropping her onto her feet.

She took two steps back, blinking and shaking her head. Her voice quavered. “What the fuck are you? What did you do to me?”

“Morgan...” He stretched a hand out, but she swung from the hip while stepping forward. Her fist caught him in the jaw, snapping his head sideways. “Ow.”

She spun around, shoved Jake aside, and took off running. Cal’s instincts kicked in, cheering silently at the opportunity for a chase. Ignoring the complaints of those he pushed past, he raced after her.

He reached the door two seconds behind her, and automatically checked the parking lot. It was empty of everyone but them and the two doormen, both Weres. Satisfied, Cal ran and jumped, flipping over her head, twisting so he landed facing her.

Morgan slid to a stop, gravel rolling under her boots. She half-fell, recovered, and dodged right. He moved to block her. “Stop.”

“Fuck you,” she snarled, but her wide eyes were filling with fear.

“I can explain what’s happening to you.”

“You can stay the fuck away from me, freak.” Silver flashed in the moonlight as a switchblade made its appearance in her right hand.

Cal stepped back, raising both of his hands in surrender. “Easy. I’m not the enemy.”

“Matter of opinion.” She eased around him, and he turned to keep her in sight. “Take a step and I’ll gut you.”

“Okay. Go cool off. When you’re ready, come back and we’ll talk.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Keys jingled as she pulled a ring of them from a front pocket and backed between two parked cars. He stayed still, unwilling to scare her more than she already was, watching her unlock the door of an older, silver sports car and practically dive inside. The door slammed shut and he heard the click of the lock before the engine roared to life.

Cal retreated when she backed it out, gravel spraying as the wheels spun. They caught, but she stopped the car to stare at him in the rearview mirror. He glanced at the license plate, committing it to memory, and then met her eyes. She flipped him the bird, put the car in drive, and roared off into the night.

“Told you she was trouble,” Jake called from the entrance.

“Jake.”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“Shut the hell up.”

M
organ took deep breaths, letting each out slowly in an attempt to stop the shudders wracking her body. She drove to her current residence, which was a weekly rate hotel. Her one-bedroom apartment was on the second floor of the repurposed warehouse. At two-fifty a week, it was a step up from her usual flop choices.

What the hell had happened back there?
She didn’t have an answer, and it pissed her off. After parking and locking the car, she hurried up the stairs with every nerve flinching. Once inside, she locked both deadbolt and knob, before backing away from the door.

Her life had never exactly been what anyone would call easy, but during the past few months, it had begun spiraling increasingly out of control. Losing control wasn’t something Morgan dealt with very well.

Strong urges kept surfacing, driving her into uncharacteristic acts. Like the night she’d blanked out, and cleaned Bully Boy’s blood from her knife... with her tongue. Or the unexplainable restlessness that had struck when she had left California. It had driven her here, to New Mexico. Or more to the point, at Chanteloup.

It was extremely strange to feel as though she belonged somewhere, but that’s how she felt each time she entered the club.

The worst change was the need. It kept pushing her at different men, had her acting like a complete slut, though it thankfully hadn’t pushed her into screwing each guy she targeted. No, it wanted a certain man and didn’t want to waste time on those it decided were the wrong ones. She hadn’t figured out why they were wrong, just knew that they were. Usually about the time they suggested finding somewhere quiet.

Morgan didn’t give a rat’s ass about how the men felt when she worked them up, only to shove them away as soon as the need was certain they weren’t
him
. But she did like to keep her own body satisfied, and it was raging at the constant revving with no follow through.

A necessary evil, sex was also a useful tool and weapon. She’d learned that lesson quite well as a child, watching her mother float from man to man, using her body as currency. Being used in return.

Sex was also a pleasure much of the time, and if there was one thing Morgan did like, it was pleasure.

Raking both hands through her hair, she turned away from the door and swept the room with sharp eyes. Nothing was missing, not that there was much to go missing. The place was furnished in a weird Southwestern/Art Deco fusion that had amused her when she had first seen it.