Page 65 of Her Wolf

Shiny-as-fuck Oxfords

Being a bouncer sucked ass. This deep inside the entry hall, all Lars could see was a square of the hotel’s exterior —which was mostly parking lot and a few sad looking trees—and on the inside, a dark rectangle leading to the main entertainment hall.

Setting up had been fun; he’d spent time with the DJ who’d be playing here tonight, setting up his stand. But it had gone downhill since then.

Finn had insisted that they close the doors at quarter to seven — and it was twenty-three minutes to.

Fuck it — anyone who arrived late could trek back the way they’d come and go get some drive through. He was done.

Lars went to the hotel’s massive double doors and began pushing them closed. When the two halves met—as he’d seen when he and Ana had arrived earlier—they formed the snarling face of what could have been a demon.

He was having serious doubts about the sanity of the person who’d built this hotel. Either they fancied themselves vampires, or directed their prayers down, not up.

A white sedan pulled into the hotel’s drive. Lars watched it without expression, and then let out an expressive sigh as he opened the door again.

This was such bullshit. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? Then Cora wouldn’t have stuck him with door duty as punishment.

He’d been concocting some very interesting ways of punishing her in return. A cat-and-nine-tails featured top of the list, followed by some dripping candle wax.

Messy, but effective.

He could already see her, bound and yelling, as he dripped bright red wax over her—

“Evening,” a warm voice called out.

Lars blinked, clearing a very vivid image of naked Cora from his mind. “Evening,” he said, stepping aside so the man could come through the door.

The last of daylight was leeching from the sky, but there was enough light that Lars could see the man wore plain, if perfectly tailored clothes. A showy robe hung from a brooch around his neck, thrown back over one shoulder. An empty sword hilt hung from his belt.

Lars hurried ahead, going through the metal detector and snatching up the guest book Ana had provided him with earlier that day. About eighty percent of the names had been scratched off—impressive, considering how last minute this impromptu soiree had been—and he glanced up at the guest with a bright, “Your name?”

Just because he hated the job, didn’t mean he wasn’t fucking awesome at it.

A pretty accurate rendition of a wolf’s head cast in dark bronze hid the top half of the man’s face. Brown eyes the color of mud peered back at him.

“Ignatius Briar,” the man said in a pleasant Alabama drawl.

“What an unfortunate name,” Lars said, scanning what remained of the list.

The man let out a low laugh, sounding surprised but not offended by Lars’s commented.

Because he rocked this gig, that’s why.

“Ignatius. I have you down for a plus one,” he said, waving his pen in the general direction of the missing person.

“He’s running a few minutes late, it seems.” The man didn’t sound that pleasant anymore. In fact, Lars didn’t feel that at ease anymore. “Would you be so kind as to let him in when he arrives?”

So, that’s how the guy rolled. Because, face it, if he had a bodyguard, the guy would have been at his side like a burr. But a middle-aged gentlemen of what appeared fine standing—and flawlessly tailored clothes—who had a male partner as a plus one?

“Long as he’s here in the next…” Lars tipped his wrist to glance at his watch. “Four minutes.”

“I am sure he will be,” Ignatius drawled, in a tone that suggested that the man would never be heard of again if he didn’t make it in time.

Fucking drug dealers. Lars drew a line through Ignatius’s name and gestured toward the curtains. “Enjoy,” he said.

Ignatius gave a dip of his head. As he turned toward the hotel’s interior, light flashed off his belt buckle.

Jesus, these people had too much money. That he’d had a belt buckle made to match his mask…

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