Page 3 of What a Wolf Demands

Goosebumps formed on Lily’s arms, and the top of her scalp tightened. She clenched her jaw as she let her stare bore into Charlie’s. It was stupid to challenge him. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, her mother’s voice whispered. “Stay smart. Stay alive. Don’t look them in the eye.” But the rattlesnakes didn’t care about caution.

Heat crept up Lily’s neck, and the stirring in her chest built into a curious pressure—like an overfilled balloon threatening to burst. She clenched her jaw, grinding her molars together. Heat rushed up her neck and into her cheeks.

Luc plowed ahead, oblivious to the tension seeping into the air like fog rolling across the bayou. “Aww, c’mon, Charlie. No one said you have to mate her.” He lifted his glass and smiled at Lily over the rim. “Nothing wrong with a little foolin’ around, eh, Lily? I bet you dream about feeling a real wolf between your thighs.”

Holding her stare, Charlie smirked. “Latent Lily can keep dreaming, ’cuz that ain’t ever gonna go down.”

Later, Lily couldn’t recall what happened. One minute, she was standing behind the bar. The next, she was stretched across it, her hands around Charlie’s throat. His eyes bulged as she squeezed. His tendons compressed under her grip. Satisfaction shot through her.

Close enough to see the enlarged pores on his nose, she growled low in her throat. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last male on the planet.”

Charlie let out a gurgling sound.

“And another thing,” she said. “Call me that name again, and I’ll rip your balls off.”

His eyes widened, tiny red veins snaking across the white.

“Then I’ll feed them to you while I watch you bleed out.”

Something grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked. Hard. She released Charlie and stumbled backwards, her ribs scraping the bar’s thick wooden edge as she went.

Bart’s deep voice boomed. “Whoa! What in the red-hot hell is going on up here?” He kept a tight grip on her shirt, his knuckles digging into her spine.

Luc scrambled off his stool so fast, it tipped and crashed to the floor. He thrust an arm in Lily’s direction. “Your bar bitch attacked my friend!”

Bar bitch? Lily frowned.

Charlie swiped at his throat, then examined his palm as if he expected to see blood. When he lifted his gaze, fury blazed in his eyes. “You struck a pure-blood wolf, latent.” He said “latent” the way someone else might say “roadkill.”

“I didn’t strike you,” Lily said. The pressure in her chest was gone. Now, a tremor started in her belly and shuffled a path to her legs. In the corner, the wolves by the pool table stared. Even in the bar’s dim lighting, the shock on their faces was unmistakable.

Oh no. She didn’t strike Charlie, but she put her hands on him in anger. That was enough to get her hauled before the Alpha.

“I saw it with my own eyes!” Luc swung toward Bart. “That’s what happens when you hire latents. They go feral and attack patrons.”

Charlie stood, bobbing his head like someone attached a string to his forehead and kept pulling on it. “She threatened to kill me! She needs to be put down.”

Nausea burned Lily’s throat. As the men glowered at her, she moved closer to Bart.

“Now, now,” he said, lifting his free hand in a shushing gesture. “Lily here ain’t feral. You boys just got her riled up, is all.” He used her shirt to pull her against his side, then wrapped his arm around her shoulders, his big palm warm on her upper arm. “Right, Lily?” He tucked his chin, seeking her gaze. “You’re sorry for the misunderstanding.”

She knew what he wanted. “Y-Yes,” she told the men. She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“See?” Bart’s tone was jovial, like she’d accidentally served them lite beer instead of regular. “No harm done.” He maneuvered her toward the back exit, adding over his shoulder, “Lily and I are gonna go check on the brew out back.”

Luc sputtered. “But—”

“We’ll leave you boys to your veiller,” Bart said, using the Cajun word for “shoot the breeze.” Before Luc could say anything else, Bart had her out the door and down the back steps. The ancient screen door slammed behind them, its chicken wire mesh rattling in the frame. Damp, suffocating heat enveloped Lily like a heavy blanket, raising beads of sweat on her brow as she let Bart lead her away from the bar. Velvet black night swirled around the gravel parking lot. In the distance, the bayou glimmered silver under a full moon.

She waited until they were halfway across the patchy grass leading to the brewing shed before she dared a look at Bart. “Thanks—”

“Not yet,” he said under his breath, a warning in his tone. He took her elbow and hurried her the rest of the way to the shed, his stained apron flapping around his jean-covered legs. He glanced at the bar over his shoulder, his blue eyes wary.

Regret sliced through her. Bart might be her boss, but he was also her friend—her only friend in Bon Rêve. Really, her only friend anywhere. He’d stepped up when her parents died her senior year of high school, letting her work shifts after school and on weekends. More than once, she’d found a few extra bills tucked in the envelope of tips he gave her every Friday.

Now, she’d not only endangered his business, she might have endangered his life. Few wolves in town acknowledged latents, let alone hired them. Most treated her kind with contempt and even a little fear, as if her inability to Turn was somehow catching.

But Bart had never seemed to care about that. He treated her the same as anyone else. It was nothing special, which is what made it so special. She’d spent so long being different, it meant a lot for someone to think of her as ordinary.

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