Page 84 of Tested
Except Lydia.
Are we friends?Close enough. Her name gives me a destination. I pick up my pace, heading for La Brea. Moving by instinct rather than any memorized map, I go looking for the lesbian biker alpha.
It takes a while, but I find the dark little pub on La Brea where the lesbians hang out. Three or four motorcycles are parked out front and the scent of wolf fills me with longing.
Pack. Home. Alone.
The door swings open and a couple of women come out, arms around each other. The acrid scent of elf has me ducking into the shadows. I manage to catch the door before it closes, conscious of the risk my wolf is taking by walking alone into another pack’s territory.
But I’m David Collins, son of the goddamn American Alpha, and there ain’t nobody in the place who can take me.
With that thought girding my loins, I enter the bar.
To sayThe place went silentis an exaggeration. I mean, the stereo keeps playing. Conversations lag, though, as one by one, the dozen or so women in the place catch sight of me.
Unfortunately, Lydia isn’t one of them.
The bartender sets down the cocktail she’s shaking and comes out from around the bar. “Nope. Not welcome. Get out of here before I chase you out.”
She’s a vampire and she pulls a gun out of somewhere. Awesome. I scan the room for someone I might recognize.There. The two women who were with Lydia when we went to the hot dog stand. I nod at them, hoping they’ll connect the dots.
“Hang on, Candy.” One of them raises a quelling hand at the bartender and gets out of her chair. “You’re David Collins, aren’t you?”
I yip, exhaling with relief.
“He’s a friend of Lydia’s, and…” she gives me a closer look, “I’m going to say that since he’s here in wolf form, he needs to talk to her.”
I go for a noble nod of the head, letting her know I appreciate her help but that hell yes I’m still the alpha here. Her friend gets out a cell phone and, after a minute, she addresses the bartender.
“Lydia’s on her way. She says to let him stay and if he wants to shift back, lend him some clothes.”
“Well alrighty then.” Oozing with sarcasm, the bartender tucks the pistol away. “Our stash of clothes for those who’ve shifted skews toward the female, so maybe you want to wait.”
“Nah,” my rescuer says. “That boy’s worn more dresses than anyone in this bar.”
There’s a round of nervous laughter and the bartender waves me toward a doorway in the corner. I follow her into a dank little room that pretty much convinces me to drink only straight alcohol in this place and to pay attention to how clean the glass is.
“That’s our donation box. Help yourself, and keep in mind the dress code here.”
I tilt my head in a nonverbal question.
“Tits and ass covered, spunky. Tits and ass covered.”
She leaves me alone. I push the door shut then inhale deeply. I’m either unexcited about shifting in a strange place or I’m just plain scared to do it at all. I sink inside my wolf, searching for the bonds holding me, Trajan, and Connor together.
They’re whisper-thin, but present. Filling my heart with gratitude that my wolf managed to appear at all, I shift back.
“Ow. Fuck. Damn. Damn. That fucking hurts.” I’m bouncing on my toes, shaking out my hands. My five-fingered hands.Oh lordythat freaked me out, and I’ll add it to the list of things a lone wolf is not supposed to be able to do.
The donation box is full and my wolf is still present enough to flinch at the bouquet of odors rising from the pile of clothes. I dig through, and my first find is a gorgeous tie-dye sarong in sunset colors. It’s too windy to wear it around my waist without anything to cover my bits, so I set it aside.
Most of the stuff is black and there’s an unsurprising amount of leather. At the bottom, though, I find a red-and-white checkered blouse and a pair of cut-offs that are almost my size. I tie the blouse in front instead of buttoning it and dig out a rope-like belt to keep the shorts up. There are even shoes, although the only ones in my size are ballet slippers.
I’ll just have to intimidate them with attitude, because I’m too short to do otherwise.
By the time I’m presentable, Lydia has arrived. She sends her wolves to the bar and takes over their table, waving me over to join her. Her hair is tied up in a scarf and her eyes are sleepy, as if I’ve just dragged her out of bed.
“Thank you for coming here.” The gratitude in my heart extends from my wolf to hers.
