Page 2 of What a Wolf Demands

Lily had heard them all. But as stupid as it was, Charlie’s nickname hurt the most. Maybe because he’d tagged her with it just as she started to realize all the dreams she’d harbored as a girl were shriveling like grapes left too long on the vine.

Luc leaned forward and snapped his fingers in her face. “You gonna get those beers, cher, or you gonna stay daydreamin’?” His thick Cajun accent made the French chère sound more like sha.

She bit the inside of her cheek, then whirled from the bar and collected three pilsner glasses from a shelf. If you don’t have anything nice to say . . . Wasn’t that what her mother had always told her? It was common enough advice, but Madeleine Agincourt had meant it as a warning. If you couldn’t be pleasant and accommodating to pure-bloods, it was best to keep your mouth shut.

“House brew, gentlemen?” Lily said over her shoulder. She didn’t bother waiting for their answer. Everyone in Bon Rêve preferred Bart’s homemade beer over the national brands. The old bar owner brewed huge vats of the stuff in a shed behind the bar, the ingredients so secret not even Lily was sure what was in it. Some of the older wolves in town swore Bart got the recipe from a witch in Lafayette.

Others muttered under their breath that he took water straight from the bayou, dumped sugar and hops in it, and called it a day.

“Ça c’est bon,” Luc said behind her back. That’s good.

She topped off the glasses, turned, and set them in front of the men. “Here we go.”

Luc lifted his beer and gulped, his thick neck working. When the glass was half drained, he lowered it with a thud and swiped a big palm across his mouth. “I swear, fellas, Bart’s beer is the only thing that gets me truly hammered.”

Charlie grunted. “Same. My Gift doesn’t work for shit in this place.”

“That’s because your Gift is shit to begin with,” Luc said. He nudged the man on his other side, then chuckled at his own joke.

“It’s stronger than yours, dick,” Charlie muttered.

Luc angled his body toward Charlie, then pointed at him. “My papere was the fastest Finder in the entire territory.”

“Yeah, your grandfather was fast.” Charlie pushed Luc’s finger away. “You aren’t.”

“I’m faster than you, asshole.”

Lily grabbed a clean rag and started dusting the liquor bottles on a low shelf. They weren’t dusty, but it didn’t matter. If she kept busy, the men might forget about her. Maybe their argument would get heated, and they’d take their fight outside. Maybe a storm would roll in, and they’d both get struck dead by lightning.

Luc raised his voice. “Lily!”

She closed her eyes briefly before turning around. “Yes, Luc?”

He gestured between him and Charlie. “We need an impartial judge. Who’s the fastest Finder, me or this dipshit?”

Well, if it’s a contest between dipshits, you win, Luc.

She plastered a smile on her face and gave a small shrug. “You know I’m no judge of Gifts.”

His expression turned stubborn. “You don’t need to have a Gift to know when one’s good or not. You’ve got eyes. You can tell who’s faster.” He pushed his stool back from the bar and folded his arms. “So tell us. Who’s faster?”

Anxiety spiked in her veins. No matter which way she answered, she was screwed. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? She twisted the rag into a tight spiral, and her heart thumped against her rib cage.

The men watched her, expectant looks on their faces. Clearly, they weren’t backing down. In the corner, the other patrons continued their pool game, their voices soft murmurs mostly drowned out by the music. Lily couldn’t make out any words, but the wolves at the bar could probably hear everything.

And just like that, she had an idea for getting out of this stupid judging contest.

She lifted her shoulders, adopting a hopeless air. “I can’t say I have much experience with Finders. Both my parents were Seekers.” Memories rose up, and she smiled. “My mother could hear an owl hooting ten miles away. It made sneaking out of the house as a teen impossible.”

Charlie snorted. “As if you had a reason to sneak around. No wolf in the territory would have you, Latent Lily.”

Her heart beat faster, but this time the rush of blood carried more than just fear. As she met Charlie’s gaze and held it, something stirred in her chest. It was like a nest of rattlesnakes had taken up residence just behind her sternum.

And now they were pissed off.

Luc didn’t seem to notice the change in her demeanor, because he slapped Charlie on the back. “Oh, I don’t know, Lafont. You and Lily here might do all right.” Judging from his slurred “aight,” the beer had done its work. He slid his gaze between her and Charlie. “You fire crotches have to stick together.”

Charlie answered without taking his eyes off Lily. “I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”

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