Page 2 of Teeth To Rip & Tear

What I needed was to spend the damn coin burning a hole in my pocket.

I nursed a diet coke for over an hour and sat on a stool at the end of the bar as I waited for the Alpha of the Locket pack to gift me his presence.

I’d hoped that curiosity would force his hand, but it was clear that I was being humored. Dean Hart had no intention of seeing me.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

I reached into my purse and pulled out a single wooden coin. A gift from my grandmother, passed down until needed.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have been caught dead in a Harley bar like The Chug. Primarily because of the concentration of werewolves with their sensitive noses, but mainly because of the sticky floors. If Joel knew I’d come, he would have dragged me out by my ear—pending divorce or not.

The bartender drifted over and took the glass when my drink got low. I held up the wooden coin before she asked if I wanted another.

“I’m waiting for Dean.” I declared. “The bouncer said he was in his office?”

The bartender's eyes flicked from the coin to my face. Irritation flashed across her previously stoic face. “Doug didn’t tell me you had a token.” Her lip curled, and I wasn’t sure if she was annoyed at me or Doug the bouncer. She held up a finger, jabbing it in my direction. “Wait here.” She demanded before turning on her heel and disappearing.

The staff door opened, revealing a man with shaggy black hair and a scar across his left cheek. He jerked his chin, gesturing for me to follow. I slid off the stool, my paper bag in hand.

My escort wore a leather jacket without sleeves, with theHoundsemblem sewn onto the back—the patch large enough to spread shoulder to shoulder. Everyone in Locket knew the Hounds, just like any sane person knew not to come to the Chug on a Friday night.

“Show me the coin.” My escort grumbled.

I unfurled my fingers, holding up the token. I tried not to look into his eyes. He smelled like leather and freshly cut grass. I sensed his wolf under the surface, pressed against his skin, longing to come out. I’d never met a scarred wolf; my grandmother always told me wolves healed too quickly for that. Either the injury had been too horrific to heal all the way, or someone had used a silver blade.

“You’re Mallory McGowen.” The man cocked his head to the side.

“Mallory Hunt.” I corrected, looking up before I realized my mistake.

My grandmother’s voice echoed through my skull.‘Don’t look a wolf in the eye. They view it as a challenge.’

I flinched, cursing my mistake, though the wolf didn’t notice as he studied my face with amusement.

“Mitchell Wright.” The scarred wolf’s lip twitched. “What brings you to the Chug? We don’t get a lot of your kind here.”

“My kind?” My voice could have frozen water.

“Sídhe.” He shrugged. “Come looking for something wild?”

I clutched the paper bag to my chest. “I’m here to see Dean.”

“Sure thing, Doll.” The wolf smirked, reaching for the handle of the nearest door in the hallway and gesturing for me to walk through.

I gave him a long look, which he matched. Before I lowered my eyes again. The scar was silver, faded with time, though the edges were puckered from the top of his left eye to his top lip. His left eyelid was slightly open, and only a tiny slice of muscle was visible underneath.

“You think I should get an eyepatch, Doll?” The wolf’s smirking mouth twitched. “Maybe a parrot to complete the look?”

I scoffed. “I think you should move out of my way so I can walk through the door.”

“So brave.” He crooned. “But your cop husband isn’t here.”

I didn’t have a husband. Not anymore.

“Mitchell, let her in.” An amused voice echoed through the open door.

I tripped over the threshold, righting myself, though my cheeks warmed with embarrassment. I wiped my hand down the front of my flowery blouse, straightening wrinkles that didn’t exist. I held my head high as I tried to remember all the rules my grandmother Eva had taught me.

Don’t look wolves in the eye.

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