Page 12 of Forged Alliances

Chapter Six

Mate.

Dax didn’t do serious relationships. He’d never bothered with them because all those sparks flashed out of existence quickly, and he’d move to the next fireworks display. He ran a hand through his short hair, sinking into the couch as if the soft cushions would devour him whole. As if his head wasn’t already a cluster of confusion, the last thing he needed was this dropped bomb.

Sierra Kanoska had lit his veins on fire, and sure, he’d wanted to fuck her senseless the moment they met, but sating his aggression with a quick tumble was a different scenario than taking his mate to bed. Not like you just plucked one of those off the aisle. Some folks married happily, never finding their mate, but those lucky enough to find their fated had the partnerships his kind revered. The mating bond might take a while to develop or it could emerge from the outset—for them, they’d been cursed with the latter.

“Fuck me,” Dax groaned before pushing off the suffocating grip of the couch. He barely knew Kanoska, and the words they’d exchanged had been filled with more than a little rancor. She would rip his heart out of his chest with her bare teeth and take his balls as a trophy over being his mate. She’d made her stance clear when she bolted out of his house as if her tail was lit on fire. Not like he didn’t agree—they’d just met. Those sorts of attachments bordered on lunacy.

Yet he needed her help. They’d left Jeremiah at the diner to go over the will, and if Dax’s pack had turned on him because he was a bastard, he’d need all the support he could get to try to stake a fair claim as alpha. Alpha status had never been a dynasty, but after his father won the position after his father passed, the man had died trying to make it so.

Dax stalked into his room to put on a pair of pants without an elastic waistband. Whether she liked it or not, Kanoska had agreed to work with him, and he would hold her to her promise. Even if they had problems keeping their hands off each other and she happened to be his destined mate. No biggie. He tugged on a beat-up tee as he let out a long exhale. Hell, he hadn’t stayed in a relationship longer than six months, and in stomped a woman he barely knew with lifetime potential stamped all over her perfect ass.

He snagged his Flyers cap from his end table. The mating bond wasn’t some arranged marriage. Both parties had to consent for the connection to solidify. After the pair confirmed the mating bond, most had a Tribe member bless the union through the totem spirits, similar to a wedding ceremony, but he’d only been to a couple in his lifetime. Those celebrations were massive, the sort to draw surrounding packs and unite a whole region together—the exact sort of chaos he wanted to avoid. Since she’d started out with a lower-than-average opinion of him, all he had to do was keep from falling for her.

His stomach churned at the thought. Easy as a run through the woods.

* * * *

For the second night in a row, he showed up at Beaver Tavern.

Wolf sweat drenched this little woodsy shithole of a bar, but he’d left Kyle and Ally at this bar last night to mingle, and they’d somehow escaped without a scratch. He, on the other hand, had managed to get more than a couple of scratches from a certain wolf alpha in the heat of the moment. The amber lights glowed with a welcome he wouldn’t receive, not after what happened earlier in his cabin. Sierra must’ve run the whole way back too, as he hadn’t needed to deal with Jeremiah the overprotective werewolf banging on his door.

His jeans were wrinkled and his T-shirt torn in more than a couple of places, but he didn’t bother with nice attire when the Red Rock alpha had bolted from his place earlier. With the way his luck was going lately, she’d call the whole deal off and he’d be up shit creek. Dax heaved a sigh as he shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled to the entrance.

Shouts and laughter washed over him once he stepped inside, the scent of wet dog mingling with stale beer and unfinished wood. Even though he crept in at a silent tread, once he crossed the threshold, all eyes turned to him. Wolves and their keen noses.

He ignored the pressure of the stares leveled his way as well as the growls from the guys on the periphery who found his mere presence a threat. Not his problem if they grappled with insecurity.

Dax didn’t even need to scan the place; he felt her there, another bad sign she’d imprinted on him more than he anticipated. Like déjà vu, Sierra Kanoska sat at the bar, a bottle in her hand, though this time a hulking guy with a buzz cut stood behind the counter rather than the vixen from yesterday. Dax approached the bar, remaining silent. With the way her shoulders tensed, he didn’t need to announce his presence. She had the same awareness too.

He slid into the seat beside Sierra, the worn legs of the stool creaking as he settled. Unlike the hush from last night, though, folks were muttering crap under their breath and stealing sips from their pints.

The guy behind the bar flattened his palms on the surface, watching him with the wary eyes of a predator. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t gut you here.”

Dax didn’t bat an eye, sliding out a pack of mints from his pocket. “First off, take the edge off your mutt breath before you go baring your teeth at me,” he responded. The surly bartender’s reached lightning fast across the counter to bat the pack of mints away, and it smacked against the wall. Dax had to hide his smirk of amusement at how fast wolves’ tempers sparked.

He angled his body to Sierra. “We made an agreement, which I haven’t done anything to violate. So unless the honor of the Red Rocks is as mythical as your patience, you won’t be launching into an attack.”

Sierra placed a hand on the barkeep’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. A flare of heat seared Dax at the casual touch she offered another guy. He exhaled slowly, calming the irrational impulse. Then the Red Rock alpha fixed those vibrant, dark eyes on him. His gut kicked with surprising strength. Hell, if making out with Kanoska inspired this sort of shit, he was screwed if they ever got down and dirty.

“I apologize,” she said, loud enough for the bartender to hear. Her eyes locked with Dax’s, the gravity in her expression snaring him on the spot. He understood at once she referred to earlier. At running when they needed to talk things out. Her lips were pursed and those deep eyes serious, but even though he wished he could tap into her current, her thoughts remained unreadable. “You didn’t do anything to warrant hostility from my pack. If they can’t behave,” she said, casting a warning eye around the room, “then I’ll have to assign them tasks to blow off all their extra energy.”

At once, a clamor of shuffling, rustles, and clinks arose as folks returned to their beers and business.

“Seamus, mind giving our friend here a drink? I’m sure he could use it after the day he had.” Sierra hunched over the counter, her palms wrapped tightly around a bottle of Jack. He’d expected the same old hostility he’d received yesterday, not the absolute fairness she handled him with, the same way she dealt with her pack. After she’d run out earlier, he’d braced himself for an onslaught of blame. The lack of aggression directed his way disarmed him.

Even though Seamus scowled, he poured a pint of Guinness and passed it over. Dax wrinkled his nose at the foamy, dark brew, not much of a stout man. Still, he wouldn’t turn down free beer. Taking the glass with a tilt of his head in the direction of the World’s Crankiest Bartender, he swiveled in his seat to face Sierra.

“The amount I’m prepared to drink depends on what your friend Jeremiah figured out with the will.” He took a sip from the pint. Even though the beer tasted flat and way too thick, he’d take anything for distraction at this point. His pulse picked up in her presence as her scent wrapped around him, apples and spice.

“He’s on his way over to discuss,” Sierra responded, her gaze flicking away before she continued. “I…went for a long run earlier.” The elephant in the room tap-danced on deafening feet. At some point they’d have to discuss this mess, but if she wanted to play the avoidance game, he’d already joined the ranks as a professional commitment dodger.

He opened his mouth, ready to deliver a comment about running into his bed, when he froze. This mating bond destroyed his go-to avoidance move, because the second he flirted with her, things got real, fast. Instead of responding, he honed in on the pint in front of him, chugging the murky stout in a couple of gulps before he slid the empty glass back over to Seamus.

“Pretty please?” he asked. Seamus shook his head but acquiesced, filling it with more sludgelike brew. He was in a self-flagellating mood anyway, so the drink helped that punishment along. As he grasped the refilled glass, he scooped his balls off the ground and faced Kanoska again. The mating bond had struck so suddenly he’d forgotten about the previous, painful discovery of the day from hell.

“Rylie happened to fling a revelation in my face,” Dax said. If he had a choice in conversations, at least he could broach this one with her. “Pops and the other old folks in the pack might have had such a huge problem with me because apparently I’m not his blood. Never could explain the blatant favoritism for my brother, but now I’m delivered answers on a silver platter.”

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