Page 23 of Feral Heart
“I’m taking that as a yes. And just so you know,” he whispered into the wolf’s ear, “when you’re human again, I’m going to kiss you. A lot. So be prepared for that.”
The wolf’s tail wagged in response. Jamie grinned, wrapping his arms around its neck. “Best first date ever.”
* * * *
Grant gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as he drove down the dark country road. His borrowed truck—some piece of shit he’d talked his neighbor into lending him—rattled with every pothole. The engine made a grinding noise that set his teeth on edge, but it had gotten them out of there fast enough.
Should’ve put a bullet right through that bastard’s skull.
The guy had humiliated him. Made him look like a punk in front of everyone at the store, including Jamie. Grant’s jaw clenched thinking about it. He’d followed the asshole after he’d left, watched him ride that fancy motorcycle to some biker bar.
And what the fuck? Jamie had been there? Since when did his dipshit baby brother hang around bikers? Grant had started to get out to take care of Jamie when he’d straddled that bike, but Jamie wasn’t the main target.
“Man, I can’t believe you handed me a gun!” Mike whined from the backseat, his voice cracking like a damn teenager. “You said we was just gonna scare the guy! You ain’t say nothin’ about shootin’ nobody!”
Grant rolled his eyes, sick of listening to the little bitch moan. Mike owed him for some drugs anyway, so the least he could do was shut his mouth and help out. It was supposed to be simple—follow the guy, put the fear of god in him, rough the asshole up to make his point. Show him what happened when he disrespected the wrong person.
But then he’d taken off on that bike with Jamie wrapped around him, and Grant had seen red. Did his little brother think he had a bodyguard now? A wannabe hero just so he could get into Jamie’s pants? Grant didn’t give a shit what Jamie did with other guys, but if the twig thought he had some muscle at his back now, Grant would have to prove no biker scum could protect him.
“You’re acting like we killed him,” Grant muttered, glancing in the rearview mirror. “We didn’t even hit nothing.”
Which only pissed Grant off further. Not that he’d seen the guy alive when those punk-ass men showed up. He just knew in his gut the guy was still alive. But now he knew where to find him.
And Jamie.
In the passenger seat, Rowan was smiling that weird-ass grin of his. The guy never said much, but he was always smiling about something. Creepy as hell, but useful when things got messy. He’d been the one who’d suggested following the biker guy and getting a little payback.
“I already done time!” Mike’s voice climbed higher. “I ain’t going back! You hear me? If the cops come asking about this shootin’, I ain’t going down for your stupid bullshit! They nearly shot me, making me yell!”
Grant’s hands tightened on the wheel. The rage that had been simmering all evening flared hot in his chest. Stupid bullshit? That prick had put hands on him, made him look weak in front of his own brother. Nobody did that to Grant and walked away.
“You threatening me, Mike?” he asked quietly.
“I’m just saying, if they trace this back to us, I’m rolling over. I can’t go back—”
Grant yanked the wheel to the right, pulling off onto the shoulder. Gravel crunched under the tires as he threw the truck into Park. In the sudden silence, he could hear Mike’s panicked breathing from the backseat.
“You’re not telling anybody nothing.” Grant reached under his seat where he’d thrown his piece.
From beside him came Rowan’s soft chuckle, barely audible but somehow filling the entire cab.
* * * *
Cesar pulled on his jeans, wincing as the denim brushed against his still-healing bite wounds. Around him, the pack dressed in silence, the rustle of fabric and clink of belt buckles the only sounds disturbing the night air.
The fight had been messier than necessary—his pack too eager to protect Jamie from what they perceived as a threat. Stupid misunderstanding. His shoulder throbbed where Santiago had sunk his teeth in, thinking Cesar was chasing the human to harm him rather than protect him.
“What happened?” Matias asked, his voice low as he buttoned his shirt, eyes never leaving Jamie, who sat on a fallen log nearby, staring at the wolves-turned-men with wide-eyed fascination.
Lifting his head, Cesar inhaled deeply, sorting through the scents lingering in the air. Gunpowder. Blood. Fear. And something else—something familiar that made his wolf snarl. The acrid smell of cheap cologne mixed with cigarettes and that distinct chemical reek of someone who’d been marinating in drugs for too long. “Grant.”
“Jamie’s brother?” Matias’s eyes hardened to chips of amber. “That’s his scent?”
“Yeah.” Cesar yanked his shirt over his head, wincing again as it caught on his wound. “Brother dearest decided to play target practice.”
Matias’s jaw ticked. “This crosses a line.”
“No shit.” Cesar grabbed his boots, jamming his feet into them without bothering with socks.
