Page 10 of Fae Devoted
“Quit teasing him.” Sarah pushed aside the half-eaten plate of hot wings and took a sip of ice water.
“Males don’t tease. We bust each other’s balls.”
“James,” she admonished, digging an elbow into the stomach of her Ca’anam. “Tucker, why don’t you—”
He didn’t hear the rest of Sarah’s sentence as the fair-haired shifter moved in behind Jo, matching the rhythm of her hips. Ross Hubbard transferred to Mud Island to attend graduate school at the Fae Touched branch of the local university sixweeks ago, and Jo would have helped him with the temporary move.
The dim lighting and smoky atmosphere didn’t mask the desire on the young male’s face, and if Chess wasn’t filled with competing scents, Tucker swore he’d be able to smell his lust from across the club.
He almost overturned his wooden chair surging to his feet when Ross’ hand landed on Jo’s slender waist, her eyes flying open as if startled. A Ferwyn male would never force himself on a female, but when it came to Jo, all rational thought seemed to vanish.
He barreled underneath the wooden dancers’ cages that hung from nightclub’s lofted ceiling; the chess piece-shaped enclosures left empty for the night’s special event. Sensing a dangerous predator with its prey in sight, human and Fae Touched alike scattered, and he made it to the dance floor in seconds.
“Jacob?” Jo brushed the damp auburn strands from her flushed cheeks and took a step in his direction, breaking the shifter’s loose hold.
Ross was tall and muscular, his dominance level high—he would be a pack Alpha one day if he wanted the role—but the intrinsicknowingevery Ferwyn male possessed revealed his wolf’s strength was far below Tucker’s.
Every Fae Touched region contained a single Ferwyn Clan composed of numerous wolf shifter packs. Each pack was named after its Alpha and collectively ruled by the Clan príoh—the most dominant Ferwyn in an individual territory. Only Samuel sat above Tucker in the ESC’s hierarchy.
“Jacob?” Jo tilted her head, her gaze flitting between his glower and Ross’s clenched jaw. Her eyes widened, and her hand went to her mouth, covering what looked like a smile.
“What the hell is going on?” Penny rushed in, her fists planted on her narrow hips. Hop was behind her, the hungry vamp nowhere in sight.
“She doesn’t bear any Marks, Beta Tucker.” Ross kept his chin lowered, but his nostrils flared.
But she should. She will. Mine.
“That doesn’t give you permission to put your grubby paws on her, motherfu—” Penny’s invective was snipped mid-curse.
Hop clasped Penny’s wrist and twirled her around, then hoisted her over his shoulder. The stocky shifter trapped her thighs against his torso and plowed through the gawking onlookers, removing the vulnerable human from the brewing conflict. Penny rained a string of death threats and obscenities on him, pulling on his waist-length braid as though trying to steer a runaway horse. He carted her upended through the club, her feet kicking.
Although Hop’s countenance was as stormy as his unusual gray eyes, the sole thing bruised at the end of the night would be Penny’s pride.
Jo’s hand dropped, and her mouth fell open.
“Jo…” Tucker yanked her attention from the ongoing spectacle and offered his hand.
“Hmmm?” Her gaze was on Penny’s dramatic exit, but she laid her palm in his, trusting him without a second thought.
Every. Damn. Time.
His she-wolf was beautiful inside and out, her enthusiasm for life infectious. He couldn’t blame Ross for his blatant interest. What unmated shifter male wouldn’t want fate to choose Jo as his Ca’anam?
Tucker’s hold on his human form slipped another notch at the intolerable thought of losing her to someone who wasn’t burdened by the past. His vision altered to the dulled spectrumof his wolf, and his would-be rival responded in kind, claws springing from his fingertips in anticipation of a challenge.
“Is there a problem here, lieutenant?” James interrupted the escalating confrontation.
“No, there’s not.” Jo released his hand and crossed her arms, no longer amused. She stared at the upper canines indenting his lip. “Right, Jacob?”
He remained silent as the live band hired for the party by the queen began to play in the background. Their audience stood unmoving around them; the guests glued to the drama unfolding on the dance floor.
Ross broke the stalemate, conceding Tucker’s superior status by exposing his throat. His feet dragged as he crossed the checkerboard floor to the group of transient clanmates waiting to ambush him at the bar for the public set-down.
Ross is lucky only his ego would take a beating—and that it was mandatory to check external weaponry at Chess’s door.
“Thanks for the dance,” Jo called after him, expression soft with sympathy.
The band switched to a sultry ballad, the lead singer’s voice grit and gravel, the vocals steeped in Anwyll magic. The tattooed symbol on the witch’s throat glowed a soft white as he crooned into the microphone, the country song infused with a calming spell to soothe the crowd. Couples began to dance while others left the floor to get a cocktail and wait for a faster tune. Conversations resumed.
